


Until The Quiet Comes

by muse_of_mbaku



Series: Until the Quiet Comes [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Angst, Black Panther Shuri (Marvel), F/M, Fluff, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Post-Movie, Reader Of Color - Freeform, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_of_mbaku/pseuds/muse_of_mbaku
Summary: Saved by T'Challa after the events of the movie, Erik awakens with his memory stripped.





	1. Chapter 1

Recommended Listening: Until the Quiet Comes by Flying Lotus (entire album)

Fluorescent bulbs are a particular sound. There’s a low frequency static and then the pop of energy expelling into light. Well before he opened his eyes, Erik listened to the sound of the lights he knew were directly above him and readied himself for the flood of brightness he knew was coming.

This is not heaven or hell, he mused as his eyes rolled open. It was a lab, a starkly clean one with the bass of music heavy in the air. Though they were not tight, he could feel the coolness of cuffs against his wrists and ankles. Whatever he lay on was cottony and soft. He felt like he was floating. Piercing their way through the music, the distinctive blips and beeps of medical equipment found his ears. He imagined somewhere behind his head was a monitor running a script of his heart rate and other vital signs. This was far from his first time in a hospital, but this felt different. From his limited range of vision, Erik could see no natural light. This room, wherever it may be, was secured underground. He was almost certain of it. 

His tongue felt thick, like it hadn’t been used in days. Despite the softness of the fabric beneath his back, he ached. It was the familiar burn of bruises earned during hand to hand combat mixed with a piercing pain he couldn’t pinpoint. When he breathed too deeply, the air caught in his chest and he winched. The pain let him know he was not dreaming. He closed his eyes, racking his brain to remember exactly where he’d been and what he’d done to earn this spot strapped to a hospital bed. His mind was blank. 

He’d almost missed it, but somewhere across the room he heard the rustle of paper, like the page of a book being turned. Erik craned his neck as far as he could but did nothing more than pull the muscles. He stilled and listened. Another page turn hit the air softly. 

He cleared his throat and nearly choked on the dryness. The music ceased.

The smell of lavender greeted him before the voice. “I am glad to see you’ve awaken. I’d worried that it would take a few more days.” 

He couldn’t see her, but her voice was soothing and not in the practiced way he’d heard doctors and nurses use with families of the deceased. She sounded sincere. 

“Where am I?” It was the expected question, but Erik truly had no idea where he was. He didn’t know if he should be angry, frightened, or calm. He was at a disadvantage. Something about that didn’t sit right with him. When she was slow to answer, he could sense the hesitation. “Please.” The word felt odd in his mouth. 

“You are being treated for your injuries at a secure location. Where is not important at the moment. Just know you are receiving some of the best care in the world.” 

Her answer was purposely vague and Erik couldn’t help but to feel that he wouldn’t be privy to the location anytime soon. For the moment, he couldn’t sense any immediate threat to his safety. Considering the fact he was the one cuffed to a bed, she may have been the one who needed to worry about him. 

“Now that you’re up, I’ll get you something to eat and drink. No need for the IV feed any longer.” He listened to her steps retreating and then a beep and the automated whoosh of a door sliding open. In the brief moment before the door closed, he heard nothing. No voices. No sounds of life outside of the door. His confusion deepened. 

Not too long after he steadied his breathing, the door once again slid open and her footsteps entered the room. Again, no sound entered behind her. With a small hitch, the surface on which he lay pitched forward and he found himself in a standing position. 

“I’m going to release your hands. I’d like to think you are capable of feeding yourself. However, please don’t make use the tools at my disposal to restrain you. Understood?”

“Yes.” Although her words had been quiet, they’d been full of confidence. He wasn’t willing to test her until he was more secure in his surroundings. He was surprised when the cuffs at his wrists opened without a set of keys or her coming into view. While marveling at this, another thin strap of the same metal closed around his midsection. She wasn’t taking a chance. 

And then there she was. Hair pushed away from her face and a pair of large glasses perched on her nose. Clad in not a lab coat, but an expertly tailored jumper, the white gleamed against her skin. She was tall, even in the golden flats she wore. Balanced on the forearm and hand of one arm was a tray of food that made his stomach lurch. He was starving. 

“I’ll get you set up and you can have at it. If you need more, please let me know.” She positioned a waist height tray at the front of his body and placed the now unwrapped plates on the surface. “I’m Y/N. I’ll be just over there.” She pointed to a desk across the room. It was neatly kept, but he could make out piles of charts, books, and paperwork in labeled trays. His assumption about being underground had been incorrect. She’d simply had the shades drawn. 

“Thank you.” It was all he could muster before he consumed the meal of grilled chicken and vegetables chased with an overflowing cup of diced tropical fruits and tall glasses of passion fruit juice and water. When he chased the last bite with a final drag of liquid, he leaned back against the bed fully sated. 

“Satisfied?” She’d appeared in front of him with a clipboard in hand. 

He nodded.

She peered over her glasses at him. “Good. Erik, tell me what you remember.” 

“Nothing.” It was the absolute truth. 

“Excellent. Now we can begin.”


	2. Chapter 2

Recommended Listening: Lost Boy by Jaden Smith and Where Did I Go? By Jorja Smith

As many times as you’d done this, it always amazed you just how complete the wipes could be. There was a science to it. Want to erase a day, a week, a month, a year, a lifetime? It was all possible. You could break time into finite blocks and rearrange a person’s mind in whatever manner that was beneficial to your cause. 

When the technology had been developed by the United States government, of course, it had been clunky. There was no finesse to their procedures. Thankfully, your government was graced with much more patience and nuance. Wiping was nearly perfect now. With the science firmly in hand, the art of rebuilding is where the real work began. Each subject was a blank canvas. Tabula Rasa. The layering and contouring of memory was your specialty. As a child, you’d been accused of being too quiet, sneaky, always watching. You liked to call it observant. Your mind could remember intimate details of interactions like they were happening in real time. Those skills served you well now. 

The man before you, Erik Stevens, would be one of your most interesting and challenging cases. His wipe had been twofold. A childhood of turbulence and an adulthood of chaos and rampage. There were bits and pieces of him left. His name, his military training, his education at MIT. The cornerstones of what you needed to mold him into who your employers desired him to be. When you’d read the thick dossier on him and learned of why he was often called Killmonger and why his skin was patterned in scars, you’d felt a tinge of fear. That quickly settled when you remembered his wiping had yet to begin. The man staring at you quizzically was a docile version of who he once was. 

“Tell me what you remember, Erik.” You kept your voice even as you’d been trained. This hadn’t been a hard skill to grasp. Your subjects were still people and you liked to think you were kind-hearted. 

“I graduated from MIT. I was a Seal, black ops. Things are a blur. Not really defined.” He seemed frustrated that he couldn’t remember. He closed his eyes in concentration. “Did I do something? Is that why I’m restrained?” 

He had indeed, but at the moment it wasn’t important. “We’ll talk about that in a bit. You are restrained because I couldn’t be sure how you’d behave when you awoke. It’s been a few days and you may have been irritable to say the least.” But you were also well aware of the muscled bulk of his body. He was sinewy and imposing in ways that disquieted you. Memory building was a lonely task. Erik Stevens was like a shock to the system. You’d swallowed thickly when his limp body has been carted into your lab and secured to the bed. Even though you were well versed in the various security settings provided, he still seemed dangerous. And intriguing, if you were honest with yourself. 

The confusion was back. “Days?”

“Yes. My first priority was to make sure you lived. Can’t very well help you remember if you’re dead, right?” You tried to make him smile. It worked and the golden fangs hidden by his bottom lip came to light. 

“Thanks for that.”

“Perhaps this evening we will see about moving you to more comfortable accommodations. Now, back to it. That’s all that’s rattling around in that head of yours?” You pulled a wheeled stool over and took a seat in front of him. You observed the quick flicker of his eyes on your thighs as you crossed your legs, the clipboard balanced on your knees.

“Nothing else. How are you going to fix that?” A bit of challenge laced his statement. You didn’t care for it. 

“I’m quite skilled at my job, Mr. Stevens and I expect you to respect that.” Your tone was measured.

His anger flared. “I’m not respecting shit until you stop with all these cryptic ass answers. Got me strapped to this bed like some kind of animal!” 

“You’ve been treated very well, Erik.” You wanted to test his temper. From what you’d read, it was explosive and his ability to disconnect was deadly. “All will be revealed in due time.”

He strained to reach you from the bed. The band around his midsection prevented him. “You lucky you got me hemmed up. I’ll teach your pretty ass about testing me,” he growled through clenched teeth. Your stomach fluttered. 

“Hmm.” You clicked your pen and rose from the stool. “Perhaps it’s best you stay here another night. We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

“Fuck you!” 

“You wish,” you threw over your shoulder as the bed began its descent to the horizontal and the light dimmed. 

“Remember you said that, princess.” 

***  
Those damn fluorescent bulbs were buzzing above his head when Erik exited sleep. The ache was still shrouding his body and the thickness was back in his mouth.

“Ready to begin again, Mr. Stevens?”

“Erik.” The word was clipped, but he hoped she would bring him to standing again and talk to him. For angry as he’d gotten, it wasn’t because of her. His head was scrambled and he didn’t know why. 

The bed rose and the cuffs fell away as the band crossed his stomach. She was already seated on the stool when he was fully raised. Today, her hair was culled into a puff at the nape of her neck and the glasses were gone. Missing too was the jumper, replaced by a pair of tailored trousers and a boat necked shirt. The smooth column of her neck held his attention for more than a moment. 

“Let’s hope we get off to a better start today and we can finally get you to a real room. I think we’d both be happier with that. Now, let’s have breakfast and we’ll discuss it.” 

While he ate his fill of the food laid before him, she sat quietly sipping tea. Her free hand turned the pages of a book. She looked contented and lost in a completely different world. 

“What you readin’?” he asked between bites. 

“Their Eyes Were Watching God. Zora Neale Hurston,” she replied without looking up. “My favorite book.” The last statement was nearly a whisper. 

“Haven’t read it.” Placing the utensils on the tray, he signaled he was done. 

Once the area was cleared she placed the book on her desk and brought her attention back to him. 

“Yesterday you very clearly told me you were sick of my cryptic answers. I know you’re frustrated so I’ll try to be as honest as possible.” 

His gaze seared into her. 

“My job, in relation to you, is to essentially build your world. How you survived the life you lived is nothing short of a miracle, but it was also incredibly destructive in ways you can no longer remember. You’ve been what we call wiped. We’ve selectively removed portions of your memory in order to rewrite the path of your life. Of course, we can never undo what has already been done, but we can ensure your talents and abilities are used for the betterment of society. There are amazing things inside of you that got muddied by the trauma of your life.” 

Erik struggled to piece together some semblance of understanding. “Wiped? Stop bullshittin’ me. So much for being fucking honest,” he spat at her.   
She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and blew out a puff of air. When she opened her eyes, there was steel behind them. 

“Let me make sure you understand me very clearly. You will respect me, by choice or force. I’ve been nothing but kind to you considering the circumstances. Had you been assigned any other builder, you would have been lucky to get a sip of water let alone full meals eaten by your own hand.”

“Fu..”

She stepped closer, a slender finger pointing directly into his chest. In her anger she must have forgotten his lack of cuffs. Erik’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. It was easily dwarfed in his palm and he jerked her to him. She managed a startled yelp before he yelled down into face. 

“Let me the fuck off of this bed!” She was wide eyed and unresponsive. “Now!” His fingers contracted and he felt the bones of her wrist shifting under the pressure. In his rage he didn’t acknowledge the sheen of tears in her eyes or the whimpers of pain. He squeezed again. 

“I don’t like repeating myself, sweetheart.” His voice was deadpan. He felt her shudder and then felt a crack of bone. Her cry of pain snapped him back to reality. Erik released his hand and she fell backwards onto the floor, her arm feebly pressed to her chest. He watched the unsteady heave of her chest when she pulled herself back to standing. She backed away until she reached a safe distance from him. 

“Y/N…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” His apology sounded weak even to his ears. 

She depressed a bead on the bracelet around her wrist and before he could question why, the room’s door slid open and a bevy of armored women stormed in followed by a man they seemed to be protecting. 

Every eye travelled between Y/N’s pained face to his. 

“N’Jadaka, what have you done?” 

Erik didn’t have a chance to question who that was before the man’s fist plowed directly into his face and sent him into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking up sore was beginning to grate on Erik’s nerves. For the last three mornings, his body had been an alarm clock, shocking him awake when he moved. This morning, it was his jaw. He worked it, moving the bottom half of his face before gripping it in his fingers. It wasn’t broken. He knew exactly how that felt and this wasn’t it.

He had been pleasantly surprised he was no longer in Y/N’s lab. Instead, he was in a glass box. Still caged, but at least not strapped to a table. From his vantage point, he could see a short hallway with a heavy door at its end. No guards were posted or patrolled. What was also missing was a door handle, a lock to pick, a window to escape from, anything that would get him out of that room. The only break in the sheet of glass was a slot big enough to fit both of his forearms through. Trapped again, he chastised himself.

Why he’d lost all sense and cracked Y/N’s wrist between his fingers was like a ghost, like grasping at smoke. He could feel bits and pieces of something heavy in his mind, but it never fully materialized. Even though he didn’t know why he’d lashed out, he did know that he felt ashamed that he’d hurt her. The sight of her crumpled and scooting away from him twisted his stomach in ways that felt foreign to him. It wasn’t a feeling he was willing to revisit. He paced the room, the sound of his sandaled feet nearly silent. Even his clothes felt wrong. The beginnings of anger started to rise and he pushed it down as best he could.

What if Y/N had been telling the truth about wiping his memory? It would explain why his head felt fucked up. Why he didn’t feel like he knew himself. And it would certainly explain why he felt like there was always rage at corners of his vision. He was ready to listen and figure out just what he needed to do to get out of the box. Erik paused. He got out of the box and then what? He didn’t know where he’d go, if anyone was waiting on him, anything.

It had been hours since he’d awaken and there’d been no signs of life in the corridor. He dropped his body onto the bunk, elbows on his knees. He stayed that way until the pressurized sound of the door opening broke his trance. When his eyes moved up from the floor, the man who’d split open his mouth stood there with steely resolve painted across his face. Beyond his shoulders, a bald woman with the same expression lingered near the door, a brilliant spear clutched in her fist. 

“If you ever, in any capacity, place another hand on her I will make sure this time you die. Is that understood?” 

This time? Erik pushed the question to the side momentarily. “I didn’t mean to do it. Is she okay?”

“Is. That. Understood?” 

“You have my word.” The man’s scowl didn’t change. “Is she okay?” 

“She will heal.” Erik could sense the other man was unwilling to disclose any information concerning Y/N. It worried him he wouldn’t see her again. 

“You said let me die this time. Run that by me again.” Erik pulled himself from a seated position, his body assuming a wide legged stance with his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Ever the soldier,” the other man quipped. “It’s not my place to tell you anything. Y/N will do that when she arrives. She is your builder. I simply wanted you to be well aware of the consequences should you have an inkling of violence towards her again.” 

Internally, Erik was relieved. She was coming to see him. He’d apologize properly and do exactly what she needed him to in order to sort out the mess in his mind. He cocked his head and refused to allow the other man’s glare to intimidate him. They remained that way until the woman at the door broke the silence. 

“My king, the council awaits.” 

Something in Erik stirred. King? What kind of bullshit had he gotten himself into? He’d apparently nearly died. His memory had been wiped. He felt like some sort of caged animal waiting to attack in one moment and then being frightened he couldn’t remember anything other than a few solid memories in the next. 

 

***  
You studied the mud cloth patterned cast encasing your wrist and chuckled. The use of them was so infrequent that the nurses had to watch a video on the proper method to set the plaster. The levity in watching them fumble their way through the sticky mess was the respite you needed even if only for the briefest of moments. Had you accepted their offer for a healing pod session, the broken bone in your wrist could have been repaired in a matter of hours. You’d refused because you wanted Erik to see the consequences of his actions. Perhaps if he had a real time example of how destructive, and painful, his anger could be he would learn to quell it when necessary. 

You’d take the inconvenience of a bulky appendage for the time it would take to heal in order to continue putting him on the right path. 

Convincing King T’Challa to allow you to remain assigned to Erik had been no small feat. He’d been insistent that Erik was beyond repair, wiped or not. The same sentiment was not something you accepted. Granted, the king had firsthand knowledge of the bloodlust and destruction Erik could cause, but there a kernel of hope there. You’d seen it. He was more than the things you’d read in his file. At his core, he was a man looking for a place in the world and time and again everything he’d loved, or even been attached to, had been stripped away. You couldn’t imagine the trauma of that nor the ripple effects it would send through a life. The closest you could even muster was heartbreak and that was certainly nothing like the chasm Erik’s life had been. 

You’d also refused his highness’s offer of a personal guard during your sessions. What lay ahead for Erik was personal and an audience was not necessary or prudent. You’d work him through the remnants of anger as slowly as possible. There was no deadline for his rehabilitation. The kingdom wanted the lost prince in the fold despite his coup. His method may have been madness, but the fundamentals of his ideology were sound. The council recognized that, and Erik’s immense intelligence, as an asset to Wakanda as it took a place on the world’s stage. 

With a wiggle of the fingers poking out of your cast, you pushed your body from your desk and gathered a small box of items. Balancing it on your hip, you made a quick clip out of your lab and into another secured wing of the building. A scan of your credentials gave you entry to one of three singular cells. Housed behind the floor to ceiling glass was Erik. His body was sprawled on the bunk attached to the wall, one long arm nearly touching the floor. His face was turned towards the wall so you couldn’t tell if he’d yet awaken from the blow to his face. Your stomach clenched when you remember the gush of blood that spurted from his mouth after the king’s jab. Why you felt any measure of sympathy for the man who’d crushed your wrist in one hand was beyond you.

You used the plaster around your arm to knock on the glass. He stirred slowly before swinging his head in your direction. He looked surprised to see you. You swore there was a mixture of relief and remorse in his eyes. Erik unfolded his body from the bunk and approached the glass. The corner of his bottom lip was split and the darkness of a bruise had settled on the angle of his jaw. He stopped a few inches before his frame touched the barrier and locked his gaze on you. Your eyes averted.

“I brought you something. A few books, things to pass the time.” You glanced down at the box and rifled through it. “Even my favorite book. Feel free to keep it.” The copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God was one of many you owned. You waved it absently without looking up.

“Why are you being good to me? Especially after yesterday.”

You didn’t want to look up and see his face. You knew your heart would betray your logic. You knew he would be standing there looking vulnerable. You were a sucker for fixing people. And to be one hundred percent honest, the sight of him stirred things in you that you’d long assumed dead. For the span of time he’d been unconscious in your lab, you’d had plenty of time to study him. Every bit of him, from the wideness of his shoulders to the fullness of his mouth to the silhouette of his nude frame changing from bruised to a beautiful brown had hypnotized you. You’d been selfish in insisting that he heal in your lab, knowing full well he could have been anywhere else. And while he had floated between life and death, your fingers had learned the pattern of the scars coursing across his skin. You knew that between the raised hardness of them, his skin was soft. 

“Please look at me.” 

Because of the quietness of the statement you did just that. 

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The words were heavy in the air. “I swear. I don’t know why I did it. Kinda felt like instinct.” 

“It was, Erik. I accept your apology.” 

“Why?” His confusion seemed genuine. 

“Because I know there is so much potential in you. You just need to connect and be heard.” 

You placed the box on the ground next to your feet after removing a small volume bound in leather. Your next move was risky, but it could very well be the catalyst that pieced Erik’s mind together again and let him unfurl. You approached the opening in the glass. Erik mimicked your movements until you were standing face to face with inches of vibranium fortified glass between you.

“I’ll give you only one choice when it comes to my work with you.” He nodded his understanding. “Do want your memories parsed out or do you want them all at once and we work through them a bit at a time?” 

The black and white knowledge of Erik Stevens from his file had already given you your answer. He confirmed it with three words.

“All of it.” 

When you slid the small book into the slot, his fingers closed around it quickly before his free hand snaked around your wrist. Panic coursed through you. He noticed. What about this man made you careless in these ways?

The fear of his touch subsided with the feathering of his thumb across the pulse of your inner wrist. The invitation of you not pulling away seemed to relax him and the journal clattered to the ground. Now both of his hand held yours, tracing, mapping, memorizing each curve, vein, and slip of skin. 

“Thank you.” It was simple, but heartfelt. All you could do was nod while withdrawing your hand from the opening. The building absence of his fingers felt cold and long after you’d returned to your lab you could feel the hum of him in your bones.


	4. Chapter 4

Erik waited until Y/N disappeared to return to his place on the bunk. His fingertips still felt warmed from her skin. It felt like forever since he’d been touched. In fact, he couldn’t remember how long ago forever was. That damn fog clouded everything, but if the simple act of studying Y/N’s hands could set his heart pounding in his chest he knew he wanted and needed to get closer to her. 

He settled himself onto his back, the cover of the journal curled around his finger. _So, this is the beginning, he thought and steeled himself._

_-Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. Born [redacted], Oakland, CA, United States of America._  
-Son of N’Jobu Udaku and [redacted]. Both of African descent.   
-Father is one of two possible heirs to the throne of Wakanda. Mother is American, no royal ties.  
-Both parents of sound mind, well educated, and free of physical defect or abnormal development.  
-Subject raised within stable household. However, surrounding environment was frequent epicenter of drug use, violence (both from within the community and from policing authorities), poverty, and lack of socioeconomic, cultural, and educational development opportunities.   
-Mother killed in violent crime within confines of neighborhood, in very close proximity to the familial home. Child was not witness to death.  
-Father under surveillance by local and federal authorities for possible involvement in anti-police activities and domestic terrorism ties. No charges filed nor arrests made.  
-Approximately three years after death of subject’s mother, child was found with deceased father in familial home. Father victim of violent crime. No suspects nor arrests made.   
-As there was no next of kin, subject placed into Oakland City Department of Human Services system. Resided at six group homes within first four years of placement. Matched and placed with three families for varying lengths of time.   
-Subject left placement of own volition prior to attainment of age 18. Due to difficulty maintaining services for him, subject allowed to proceed with emancipation process at age 16. No further involvement with DHS. 

Erik’s ears buzzed. This time it was not due to the bulbs overhead. He wanted to be sick. His life was laid out in such clinical terms, but with each word parts of his brain fired. He could remember his mother’s face, the way she smelled, how it felt when she was no longer there. And his father. Now he couldn’t forget the heaviness of his body in his lap or the sound of both his American and African tongues. Things weren’t rushing back like the ocean, just trickles and spurts of smells, sounds, and feelings. As painful as it all was, he was grateful his mind was starting to fill in. Pain was better than blankness.   
__  
-Upon attaining age 18, Stevens joined the United States Military, quickly excelling at weapons training, hand to hand combat, and recognizance. Subject earned rank of Navy Seal and was recruited into black ops. Most of available information readily provided by US government and obtained by backchannels is heavily redacted.  
-Educationally, subject falls within the certified genius spectrum. Earned doctorate from MIT. Intelligence and adaptability should not be underestimated due to upbringing.  
-Research does not reveal any biological children, marriages, nor significant other. Subject seems to maintain no intimate relationships. Therapy could reveal this is a direct result of parents’ deaths and subsequent placement into foster care system.  
-It should be noted that no member of the subject’s paternal lineage made claim or effort to obtain custody of him. It is unclear if this due to ignorance of the predicament or refusal. 

Erik devoured every page of the journal until there was nothing except the back cover to close over his fingers. His body felt flush. For whatever his life had turned out to be, and he was still yearning to piece that together, he’d had a family and they’d loved him. Now, he was struggling with flashes of them and that brought a spate of tears to his eyes. He let them flow because those people, the ones who’d given him life, deserved his emotions unchecked. 

There was no doubt Y/N had volumes more about him and he intended to read every single one of them. If that took shattering that glass with his bare fists until his knuckles bled? So be it. Those were his memories, his life, and he was the only with the right to have them. 

It took a few hours, but when the evening meal rolled around Y/N returned. He waited for her to slide the tray through the slot before he unleashed. 

“Where’s the rest of it?” He knew his voice was rough, but his mind was hungry for more of what had been stripped away. “All that shit is mine! Made me who I am…was.” 

Erik paced the room, his hands clasped behind his head. “What gave y’all the fucking right to do this to me?” He refused to acknowledge the shame in her eyes. 

“We thought it was best…”

He rushed to the glass and slammed a palm against it. “To what? Take away the memories of my mother? My father? All the fucking accomplishments I achieved without a goddamn family to support me? Y’all walking around here whole and shit and I’m a shell. Fuck outta here, Y/N!” 

He again refused to react to her discomfort. “Is this what you do for a living? Breaking people and making perfect citizens for that asshole? Hmmm? Being a lackey for his utopia?”

He sneered and cast a cruel laugh in her direction before taking a seat. “Bring me the rest of it. Until then get the fuck outta my face.” There was no need to raise his voice this time. Erik knew she understood the finality of his statement.


	5. Chapter 5

Recommended Listening: Oysters by Meshell Ndegeocello and Mass Transit by Meshell Ndegeocello

Whatever composure you had left seeped from your body the moment the door to the cells closed behind you. You were thankful no one lingered in the hallway. Pressing your back against the wall, you doubled over and sucked in air. You were trying not to cry. It was a failed mission and it was all you could do to stifle your sobs behind your fingers. 

The raw pain in Erik’s face refused to leave you. For the last five years, you’d wiped memories. It had been voluntary and for punishment. You’d remained neutral. It was a job and whatever the reasons for the wipes were not of your concern. But this one. This one? It cut deeply. You knew from your briefing that he’d spent nearly his entire life disconnected from a family, a tribe. He hadn’t even managed to cobble together a circle of friends. Everything he was after his father’s death had built upon anger and revenge and pain until his arrival at Wakanda’s borders. Now, you’d stripped those deeply embedded corners of his mind. The places where he locked away the traces of his mother. Where his father’s voice still told him the story of home. Putting it back the way it had been was impossible. It was like razing a field, things could grow again, but it was always a new crop. 

His jab about building perfect citizens for his highness hit you directly in the heart. You’d never considered what you were doing as cultivating people, but that’s exactly what it was. You were taking away the bad and rerouting them towards an existence that was acceptable to the kingdom. Could you remain neutral knowing that? Could you deny you were just as disconnected as Erik? It just manifested in a different manner. 

You managed to dry your tears and return to your full height. A deep breath shuddered through you. You needed to be away from the sterile quietness of the holding cells and your office. Too much of your time was spent under artificial lights breathing recycled air. It wasn’t healthy. With your mind clear, you’d be able to decide how to best proceed with Erik. 

Before long, you found yourself with your feet swaying gently in the current of the river. The water felt like silk against your skin and you tried to concentrate on it. If you could just shutdown the part of your brain that kept seeing the hurt behind Erik’s anger you could feel at least a bit at ease. It worked momentarily before guilt came swirling around you like the water. 

“Okay, Y/N. What’s next? He’s in pain and rightfully so. You took away his agency. But that’s no different from what you’ve done in the past. Why does it matter?” 

You’d never fully allowed yourself to admit that had the circumstances been different, you would have fallen for Erik without pause. His mind alone was like pheromones. Reading about his intelligence and seeing him fully animated were not the same. His eyes were always searching, processing information, making decisions, and planning his next move. It was instinct for him. It was survival for him. That thought pulled the guilt around your shoulders even more. While you, and the rest of your countrymen, had been prospering and safe, he’d floated through life making it farther than those with every advantage. If this shell, as he called himself, was this virile and compelling what would he be once the process was complete? 

What Erik needed, had deserved, for a very long time was comfort. He needed care in ways he’d been denied. And he needed to be loved. You weren’t sure you would be able to offer the latter, but you could certainly make him feel settled into the land that would be his home if he chose to stay. Now, all you had to do was get him out of his cage. 

***

“I want permission to release Erik from the holding cells.” You expected the stern look from T’Challa, but you didn’t expect his laugh. “With all respect, your highness, this is not a joking matter. If his rehabilitation is truly important to the kingdom, then you’ll allow me every resource to aid him in that.”

“And you think you’d last a fraction of time with him? Strapped to a bed, he managed to snap your wrist like a twig.” He gestured towards the cast. “The moment he’s given any measure of freedom, he’d strike you down without a second thought.” 

“Perhaps Erik before the wipe, but this is a man seeking the rest of his memories and he knows that I have the key to that. Given the proper setting and, quite frankly, respect, I think he’d be receptive to help.” 

“Respect? Need I remind you the sheer number of people he’s murdered? The fact he tried to kill me, my family, and succeeded in causing the deaths and injuries of your fellow Wakandans?” His voice raised, but you stood your ground. 

“Then why did you save him? Why was he wiped? He was worth saving, but now he’s damaged goods?” You tried to keep your tone respectful, but you knew you’d been unsuccessful when he rose from the throne and stalked over to you. Okoye was close at his heels. 

“Is there reason for me to believe you are no longer neutral, Ms. L/N? Your investment in this assignment should be simply to serve the purposes of the crown. Would it be prudent of me to remove you from this case?” 

“No, your highness. I am simply concerned that we are impeding his progress by treating him like an animal. Again, with respect, I think he’s owed better than we are giving. He is one of us and he’s treated poorly because of circumstances out of his control. He was a child our people abandoned.” 

Your king looked contemplative. “I am not happy with this request, but there is some logic to your idea. It is against my better judgement, but I will allow it. Details will be forwarded this evening.” 

Giving a curt bow, you took your leave from the throne room and made a direct path to the cells. When you arrived, the lights had been dimmed for the evening and Erik was shirtless, using the edge of the bunk to balance a set of crunches. Your mouth dried. 

“Erik?” 

“If the journals ain’t with you leave.” His body continued its up and down motion. 

“They aren’t, but I really need to speak with you.” 

“What I tell you earlier? Bring them or get outta my face. How else you want me to say it?” This time he rose and crossed his arms across his chest as he stared at you. His eyes seemed blank. That wasn’t a good sign. Better to let him be than push him into a fit of anger that could spiral out of control. 

“You’re being released tomorrow. I thought you’d want to know.” 

If he wasn’t willing to listen, you’d just go. There were many other builders who could help him. You gave him a weak smile and turned to leave. 

“Another lie?” The smugness in his voice pissed you off. 

“I should have never went to bat for you. I disrespected my king to secure your release from this cage. Do you know what kind of consequences that could have on my career? My life here? No! Because you don’t care. I get it. We…I did a horrible thing to you. Maybe we thought it was for the best. Clearly it was not. He should have honored your request and let you die.” 

His face twisted in confusion. “Yo! This is the second time I’ve heard this. What that fuck are you talking about?”

You sighed. “One of the consequences of your actions nearly cost you your life. King T’Challa refused to honor your wish to die and be buried in the ocean with your ancestors. He thought maybe we could right our wrongs. I’ll be sure to brief your new builder. Goodbye, Erik.”


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: All italicized segments are from Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston  
Recommended Listening: Killmonger by Ludwig Goransson, Crush by Yuna feat. Usher, I Want You by Common

 

“Don’t go.” Erik hoped she’d stop in her tracks and come back. “Please.” 

He’d started saying that word and apologizing way too much for a man who’d been wronged, but she was his connection to this world. Without her, he was even more adrift than he felt. At least when she was around there was someone looking at him like a human being. He wasn’t isolated, only fed and clothed, but with no real interaction. And for as much as he’d lashed out at her, and hurt her, he actually wanted her there. 

“Y/N? Come here.” He knew his voice was thick. Erik extended one hand out of the portal and waited for her to respond. Just as he realized he’d been holding his breath, she made her way to him and intertwined her fingers with his. That same warmth shot up his arm and he extended his other hand through the opening. She held up her cast and shrugged her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry…”

“Stop apologizing for this. I accepted it the first time. I’m having a healing pod session in the morning and this will be gone.” 

He heard her, but he was distracted by studying her hand again. Her skin was smooth, the fingers slender and well-manicured. “You have beautiful hands, sweetheart.” 

The endearment slipped out easily and he lifted his eyes towards her. She looked bashful. In the dimmed light of the corridor the shadows and the reflections illuminated her skin. He found it adorable and squeezed her hand before letting go. 

“I don’t know the details of your release, but as soon as I do I will be sure to inform you.” Erik could tell she was attempting to be professional. She was failing and he liked it. Liked her if he was being honest. She didn’t back down from him even if he could sometimes see the fear masking her face. Still, she stayed. Something in him knew that was a rarity. 

“I’d prefer giving you the rest of the journals once we have you settled. Is that okay with you?”

He nodded and she returned her own with a smile before making her exit. Erik swore she looked lighter on her feet. 

The idea of being free, or some semblance of it, in only a matter of hours was overwhelming. All he’d known since he’d come to was Y/N and the confines of environmentally controlled rooms. Erik wasn’t sure where in the world he was nor what his life would be once this “council” decided he was rehabilitated enough to mix with the general population. And what about Y/N? When he was “fixed” would she fade away and be immersed in the next broken mind assigned to her? As much as he tried to quiet it, disappointment flooded his thoughts. Her leaving was the last thing he wanted to think about, but he was logical enough to worry if that disappointment was directly related to the power she had over his mind and his memories. Even with that possibility, Erik knew the signs of a woman softening towards him and Y/N was brightly neon. 

He knew there would be little to no sleep that night, so he settled onto the bunk with her favorite book spread across his fingers. 

_Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men._

Erik smiled wryly. His dreams had certainly been mocked to death. He’d come so far. He stilled, the flash of a memory trying to materialize out of the smoke of his mind. He was in darkness punctuated with brilliant blue and he was tumbling into a chasm fighting for his life against the other body tangled with his. As smoke is never solid, just as quickly as the memory started to form it wisped back into nothing. It was disquieting. He read on.

_Some folks needs thrones, and ruling-chairs and crowns tuh make they influence felt. He don’t. He’s got uh throne in de seat of his pants._

Erik’s eyes narrowed and he let out a grunt as he rose from the bunk and retrieved the journal from the box Y/N left. Flipping pages, he scanned until the words he was searching for seemed to leap from the page. His father was one of two heirs to the Wakandan throne. Which meant he was a prince. Which meant the utopian king was his blood. It be your own niggas. 

That sliver of knowledge opened a floodgate of questions. Had he really done something deserving of his current fate? Was he wiped for the current king to take his throne without any resistance? Was he in Wakanda? Had he been exiled? When morning came was he really getting out of this glass box?

The gravity of that small bit of information settled heavily on his shoulders. There were still so many pieces of him missing, so many more questions to be answered. One woman held the keys to all of it. Erik refused to believe that she was duplicitous. He’d felt her energy. He knew she was good. He may not know much at the moment, but he’d learned over the last few days that his instincts were rarely wrong. When then opportunity presented itself, after he’d devoured every bit of information she had, Erik would decide if Y/N was smoke or solid.

***

You’d slept terribly. You’d expected as much, but even after all of your tricks you’d tossed and turned until the sun was cresting over the mountains. It was because of Erik. From the moment he’d stormed into the country and turned everything on its ear, you’d heard rumor and fable about him. And when you’d finally come face to face with him, you knew most of the fable had been true. Had being the operative word. You’d erased pages of that story and now you were regretting it. Guilt settled around you. While you’d stared blankly up at the ceiling in the not so dark of the city night, you’d tried to imagine what it would be like if everything that made you who you were had been stripped away. How you’d cope with someone having the power to dictate what you knew about yourself. What it was like to lose all agency. It was unfair. It needed to be remedied. 

Because sleep was elusive you took the time to go over Erik’s conditions of release. You’d quite frankly been shocked when they’d been delivered to your home. He was to be released directly into your care, to reside in your home. Part of you thought it was the king’s way of punishing you for your disrespect. Thankfully, your kimoyo beads had been modified to sync with the tracker implanted in Erik. Should he step out line? He’d be fighting temporary paralysis and not you. Still, the thought of him in your space both thrilled and overwhelmed you. The thrill made you ashamed. It was unprofessional and it was traitorous and it was perfectly normal to be attracted to a man. You’d at least allow yourself that. 

Erik was a beautiful specimen. You doubted there was a woman in the whole of Wakanda that would dispute that. Of course, the chiseled body decorated with death in a way that was surprisingly beautiful was a sight to behold. And it didn’t hurt his mouth was full beneath a strong nose and his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen. But all of that was only enhanced by the strength of his spirit. He was trying to be better. Sometimes he lost his grasp, but when he regained it he took responsibility. Given his circumstances, that was extraordinary. You wholeheartedly believed that when you were done, he’d be himself renewed. Minus the murder, you chuckled. 

By the time the city had come fully awake, you’d stripped and redressed the bed in fresh linens, aired out the room, and thrown open then blinds to allow the first rays to light the space. On the desk positioned in front of those windows, which had a dizzying view of the streets below, the surface was arranged for his arrival. Fresh pens, writing pads, and the volumes of notes waiting for his eyes. King T’Challa had expressly forbade you from giving him access to any real tech so the basics would have to do. You were quite sure the only thing that would hold his interest was the collection of his memories. 

When you arrived at the holding cell, Erik looked anxious. He paced the room, the copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God and the first journal bound together in one hand. Being security measures were already in place, you’d been allowed to release him yourself. 

“Good morning, Erik. Doing okay today?” 

“Hey. Ready to get out of here. Your boy isn’t with you?” He craned his neck to look down the short hallway. “He had a lot to get off his chest this morning.” He’d practically snarled the last portion of his statement. 

“You mean your highness? I wasn’t aware he planned on seeing you. I take it you two had a disagreement?” 

“Nah. Just him telling me what I’m not gonna do. And to be respectful of you.” He snorted. You raised an eyebrow and waved the cast free hand at him. “I listened to him, aight? Now let’s go!”

You couldn’t help but to smile. He was a like a child headed for the first day of school, anxious to learn all there was to know. You could only hope that enthusiasm remained after the chaos of information he’d soon ingest. You had to steady your hand when you held the keycard to the pad flush with the wall. In a fraction of a moment, the vibranium reinforced glass slid away and Erik Stevens, in all his glory, stalked towards you. Your stomach clenched. That was until he captured your formally injured wrist and stroked then skin with his thumb, quickly bringing it to his mouth to kiss the faint bruise still marring it. 

“Erik…”

“I know. Inappropriate.”

You gave him a curt nod and led him towards the door, towards his first steps of freedom. There was no way to shake the feeling that this wasn’t going to go as planned. 

You’d expected Erik to be in awe of the city bustling around you. Had expected him to linger at the stalls, turning over wares in his hands and asking questions. You’d even expected him to be casing the area for escape routes and making sure he knew everything about his surroundings. He’d done none of that. Instead, he’d placed a hand on the small of your back and asked you how much further you had to go. If he was anything, the man was focused. There would plenty of time to show him the highlights of Wakanda, but for now you had to give him what he wanted. 

***

“So, this is where Y/N builds, huh?” Erik’s gaze swept over the brightly lit space. He’d been correct in assuming her home would be eclectic. He could appreciate it. Nothing too fancy, well cared for, all of her personality displayed in a trove of trinkets and books. His fingers were tracing the shelved titles, noting which he’d want to read later, when they stopped at a photo framed in rose gold. He palmed it and turned to face her.

“Damn, girl! This you?” He waved the frame towards her. He was stunned to see his seemingly conservative builder in tiny white shorts and fitted tee. He committed to memory the thickness of her thighs and the heaviness of her breasts. He’d always liked them thick and she sure as hell was that.   
Her reflexes were quicker than he expected and she grabbed the photo from his hands to put it back in its place. “Yea. Last year at a festival.” 

Erik grunted and eyed her. She just might be in trouble. Again, it felt like instinct and he reached for her, pulled her flush against his chest. “What kind of festival, sweetheart?” He gripped her chin and lifted her face towards his. 

She swallowed. “Umm…music….”

Erik grinned at her. She was beautiful when she was flustered and turned on. Something in him knew the signs to look for. Dilated pupils, quickened pulse, warmed skin, shallow breathing. Check. “Nervous?”

Her tongue darted to moisten her lips as she tried to back away. He held her firm. “Words, baby girl.”

“Not at all. We have work to do. This can’t happen.”

“What can’t happen? Me holding you? I’m going to be here for a minute so we might as well get used to being close.” 

“So, your room is this way.” This time she used enough force to leave his arms. Erik followed her, willed his hands not to grip her waist again. “The linens are all fresh. The bathroom is across the hall. Most important to you, however, are these…” she gestured towards the stack of leather bound pads on the desk.

He palmed them, testing the weight in his hands. For the entire life contained within them, they weighed nothing. “Thanks.”

She nodded in response. “I’m gonna go ahead and get dinner started. I’ll let you know when it’s ready. It’s probably better you hold off on reading those tonight so we can discuss our game plan. This arrangement is a first for me, too.” 

_If uh man ain’t got no bounds, he ain’t got no place tuh stop. By this time, they are the center of the world._

Placing the journals on the desk, Erik made his way back to her. He didn’t quite understand it, but she was like a magnet and now without the barrier between them he wanted her close. Soon, she was in his arms again, both of his hands cupping her face. He covered her skin with light presses of his mouth before finding his way to her lips. He cupped the back of her head, let his other hand snake around her. He kissed her. Once. Twice. The third time slipping his tongue into her mouth. She was sweet. He wanted deeper so he released her, now palming her ass. And then she snuggled her body closer to his and he suckled away the rest of the doubts making her body tense. 

When he scraped his teeth against her neck, she gasped and let a throaty moan unleash. He growled in response, lifting her body onto the edge of the desk, nudged her legs apart with his thighs. Erik moved to pull the shirt over her head and paused. 

“Tell me now if you don’t want this.” His forehead rested against hers. Y/N studied him for a moment, searched his face. 

“Yes.” The breathy word was all the permission he needed.

No longer interested in her shirt for the moment, Erik briefly lifted her and jerked her jeans and panties off in one motion. He tried to memorize her body. His fingers, lips, and tongue gliding over her exposed skin. She bucked slightly. 

“I got you, baby girl. I promise.”

He dropped to his knees then, slid her closer to the edge. Erik pressed one hand to her chest to lean her back. He could feel her breath moving slowly in and out. Satisfied with her new position, that same hand feathered down her stomach and cupped her sex. She gasped. He loved it, wanted to hear it louder and longer. His fingers moved languidly until they became slick. Erik used them like a piston. He wanted a slow build, nothing hurried. Slow felt right. 

At the first wave of hips rolling, he replaced his fingers with his mouth. Her hand came instantly to his head, pushing him away.

“Nu uh. Ride my tongue, sweetie.” He gripped her thighs and pulled her back where he wanted her then swung a shapely calf over each shoulder. Intent on enjoying every second of her, Erik kept pace. Long, through swipes of his tongue then suction then laving. He got what he wanted. A louder gasp. A longer gasp as Y/N clutched his hair and pulled him into her. 

“Oh my god…Erik please…I can’t…” Whatever else she said wasn’t English. He had her speaking in tongues. That shit boosted his ego. “Fuuuuuucccckk!” Her legs locked around his shoulders, fingers gripped his hair tighter. Y/N used his mouth, forcing him into her core harder and harder until a hoarse scream tore from her throat and her frame went lax. 

Erik was proud. His builder, broken down to her parts, was shuddering and laid out before him. 

“Not done with you, baby girl. You owe me some memories.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number of kills here was written before it was confirmed how many scars were actually on Killmonger's body.

Recommended Listening: Find My Way to Love by Jaspects feat. Chantae Cann, Borderline (An Ode to Self-Care) by Solange, Special Affair by The Internet, and Fire We Make by Alicia Keys feat. Maxwell

In the morning you’d chastise yourself, but for now you’d enjoy the rough and smooth of Erik’s body rubbing against yours. He was sliding you off the desk and latching you to his torso so gently that you almost forgot the danger. Instead of acknowledging that, your head found the crook of his neck and you pressed a kiss there before nuzzling in. You’d called Erik touch starved, but in the moment, it seemed to be truer of yourself. You were humming. It was as if every nerve had been activated. If these were the last touches you’d have for quite some time you wanted to savor them.

Erik chuckled when he tried to nestle you into the bed and you clung to him instead. He brought himself down with you, his fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. Swiftly, it was pooled on the floor and moments later your bra followed suit. You shied away by instinct. 

“Let me see you, Y/N.” A demand. A gentle one, but expectant nonetheless. You complied and he kissed you so thoroughly your head spun. When you came back to yourself he towered over you, caught mid-motion of pushing his pants from his hips. Bast had blessed him. There was no denying that. Erik winked at you after catching your stare. It was playful in a way you’d never seen. You liked it.

“My builder ready to get broken in?” He was crawling up the bed towards you. 

You bit your lip, gazed at him in all his naked glory. You felt like prey. _A willing sacrifice_ you mused. 

“Sweetheart?” Now, his body canopied above you. Erik’s head angled then lowered to plant a bite on your shoulder. Another on your neck. Another on your earlobe. “Huh, baby girl? You gonna let me break you down?” 

Your breath shuddered out of your body when a rough hand palmed your breast then swept achingly slow across the nipple. Erik’s voice may have been hard, but his touch was so gentle it made you yearn for his hands to match. He knew what he was doing. You knew what he was doing. You didn’t care. All that mattered in the moment was his fingers skimming the inside of your thighs while his mouth had replaced his hand on your breast. 

Instinct kicked in again when your knees fell open, your body expecting to be filled by his tongue or his fingers or the hardness pulsing against your leg. Erik noted this and moved his touch to your stomach. You whimpered.

“Answer my question and I’ll give you what you want.” The patterns he traced on your skin felt like a breeze and your skin flushed. “I need to give you more incentive, Y/N? Cool.”

With a peck to your forehead, he moved from above you. Your eyes sprang open in time to see his broad back faced towards you, his eyes staring out at the view. Your core clenched looking at the strong lines of his body. “Yes.”

He didn’t turn. “What are you saying yes to?” His voice was firm. 

You sat up and braced an arm across your breasts. His eyes locked with yours in the window’s reflection. “I want to be broken down.” 

A part of you, the part that wanted to be filled by Erik and fucked until you could store away memories for later, had its own definition of breaking. But the part of you that had begun to question all your life was built on wanted him to break down the objectives and priorities you hid behind. In whatever manner he did so, you were open to it. 

He was satisfied then, turning back to you and taking purposeful steps back to the bed. He removed your arm.

“Don’t hide from me. Understood?” You nodded.

When his body merged with yours it was slowly. It was unexpected in its tenderness. Each pass of his lips over yours, each lazy stroke with a hand caressing your waist and the other cradling your jaw seemed like routine, like he’d known your body for years. And when you arched against him, his arm moved under the small of your back, his tongue meeting with yours. Erik had a map to each bit of you. It confused you, but that knowledge was building a spiral tighter and tighter in the center of your body. The rotation of his hips sped, his free hand now gripped tightly on the headboard. Foreheads pressed together, eyes open and locked, you both pulled shaky breaths. You locked your legs around his waist, pulled him deeper, revealed in the brief closing of his eyes before they sprang open and he smiled down at you. 

Erik dropped his head to the crux of your shoulder, his warm breath coming in gasps against your skin. The arc of his strokes grew larger, longer, harder, impossibly slow despite their force. 

“Cum with me, sweetheart. Please.” 

Tightening your legs again, hands gripping the base of his spine, you met him each time he plunged into you. When he stiffened and the echo of his groan vibrated against your ear, you clenched around him, your voice breaking between the hitches of your breath. 

 

When you stirred and your eyes fluttered open, you were faced towards the wall. From the shadows dancing, you knew it was somewhere between night and morning. The braille of Erik’s body wasn’t behind you and you called out before turning over. He may not have been cradling you to his body any longer, but you could still feel him in the room. 

“Erik, you have to rest at some point.”

“N’Jadaka.” He said it quietly, almost pleading. 

“Okay. N’Jadaka, have you been to sleep?” 

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and tucked the sheet around your nakedness. Running a hand over your sleepy face, you padded over to him. His back was again to you, planted in the chair in front of the desk. Laid out before him, several of the journals were open. Among them you spied the neat block letters of his handwriting on one of the notepads. He’d clearly been up for hours, reading and dissecting the bits and pieces of his life. 

When you reached him, your hand found its way to his shoulder. You gently squeezed. His hand reached back to cover yours, his lips followed. These small moments of affection were still foreign. This was not the Erik, the Killmonger, you’d been warned about time and again. A sense of satisfaction snuck into your spirit. You’d known there was a core of goodness in him. It was just buried so deeply it was hard to see. You’d ignore the fact you were still in the afterglow of several orgasms as was he. Sex breeds intimacy that wasn’t guaranteed to last. You had to remember that. 

“I’ll sleep in a bit. I’m not on any type of schedule, right?” When you hummed your affirmation, his hand fell from yours and his attention returned to the life before him. Unwilling to leave the warmth of his unexpected tenderness, your arms went around him, your fingers draping towards the center of his chest. 

“There’s a lot to digest here. I don’t want you to rush through and upset yourself.” You peppered his neck with small kisses, hoping to draw his attention. It was unnerving just how quickly you’d started to crave his touch. It was an insane proposition to think N’Jadaka could actually ever be yours in whole. And if the king caught wind of your indiscretions? Your career would certainly be over. And you’d be lucky if that was the only consequence. Even though he was on the path to rehabilitation, N’Jadaka was still a criminal who’d tried to murder the nation’s sovereign ruler. And you’d begged for his release only to fall into bed with him within the first moments you’d been alone. 

But he felt familiar, made you feel freer than you had in longer than you could remember. 

“The more quickly I get through this, the faster I can sort out the questions in my head.” His eyes never left the pages before him. You knew when you’d been dismissed. If he wanted to dive headlong into the chaos that was the last few years of his life? So be it. 

“Got it.” You tried to hide the disappointment and rejection in your voice. Scooping up the first piece of fabric you could get you could get your hands on, you dropped the sheet and pulled the shirt over your head. It was N’Jadaka’s. The door closed behind you with a soft click. Curling into your favorite chair near the wall of bookcases, you pulled a blanket over your shoulders and picked up the novel you’d been reading. Far too distracted by your feelings, the book soon found its way back to the table and before you knew it, you’d drifted off to sleep. 

***

 _N’Jadaka. N’Jadaka Udaku._ That was his name. What his father had intended for him. It was the name he now wanted to carry. Correcting Y/N had been the first step in reclaiming that part of himself. He’d spent the hours since he exited her body almost memorizing the collection of lifetimes before him. He’d managed to piece together the absent portions of his time at MIT. None of it had surprised him. He’d been a pretty standard college student, save the obvious royal blood, dead parents, intellect, and beginning path to a murderous future. 

Now, as the sun was peeking over the buildings, he was stuck on one line. 

_At an unknown date, subject began ritual scarification as a means of tally for confirmed kills._

He rose to study his in reflection in the mirror. His skin was littered with scars. Arms. Chest. Back. Shoulders. Torso. Every inch of the upper portion of his body. How many had he killed? It haunted him and when the final bit of the sun had settled in the sky he’d counted them all. Six hundred and thirty-seven. It seemed insane. Able to push away the kills from his military service, N’Jadaka was quieted by how many civilians had to have perished at his hands. His eyes closed in shame. All that death and he still didn’t know why. 

Y/N had been right. It was too much too soon. He should have paced himself because now he was posted on the edge of the bed trying to control the tremor in his hands. There was a portion of him that welcomed the tremble. It showed him that he had remorse, that he wasn’t simply a killer. From what he’d read, he’d been called Killmonger. He’d racked up death after death to earn that name. It was sickening. He was N’Jadaka now. And N’Jadaka wanted to be a much better man than what he was reading. 

He needed softness. He needed Y/N. Turning towards the bed, he found her gone. Briefly he panicked. He found her then curled in the cove of a large armchair. He could make out the top of her curls above the blanket. The filter of sunlight through perforated roman shades speckled her face with gold. He’d seen her, but this was her at her best. Crossing the room as quietly as he could, he lowered himself to the floor next to the chair. He gathered a copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God from the shelf and chuckled. It was the third he knew she owned. When she liked something, he noted, she went a bit overboard. 

_Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. Real gods require blood._

N’Jadaka turned over the line in his mind. There was so much work in his future. It would take sacrifices, and acceptance of truths he’d yet to fully understand, to propel himself beyond Killmonger, beyond the reputation that made those around him fearful. _Real gods require blood._

“N’Jadaka? What’s wrong?” Her voice was thick with sleep. “How can I help?” His heart unfurled a bit at her question. 

“Help me be better, Y/N. Something more than I am now.”


	8. Chapter 8

Recommended Listening: Destiny by Zero 7, Wonderwall by Oasis, and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am  
-Iris by The Goo Good Dolls

I said maybe  
You're gonna be the one that saves me  
And after all  
You're my wonderwall  
-Wonderwall by Oasis

 

Every bit of you ached for N’Jadaka. His request had been so quiet, so pained, that you’d immediately pushed the blanket from your shoulders and slid to the floor next to him. His earlier dismissal was water under the bridge.

Gathering his hand in yours and propping it atop your thighs, you felt him shaking. 

“It’s alright. We can work through this. I’m here until the very end, okay?” 

You felt as if you’d just promised him more than he asked for. Of course, you would be there until the council deemed him “cured”. That was what you had been hired to do, but he’d seeped into your spirit without you putting up much of a fight. Only time would tell if that would be a blessing or a disaster. 

“How, Y/N? Look how fucked up I am.” His hand pulled free from yours as he gestured towards the keloids on his chest. “You think my parents would be proud of me?” 

His voice broke a moment before his eyes filled with tears. They spilled over with a sob that broke your heart. You watched his head drop, the grey fabric of his pants darkening with each splatter falling. Your fingers flexed and relaxed as you debated pulling him into your arms as a comfort. The rack and shudder of his shoulders made the decision for you and you looped your body around him. His head buried against your chest, amplifying his cries. 

“They’d be ashamed of me.” The rest of his words were lost between pulls of air and his mouth muffled against your breasts. 

You used your nails to trace concentric circles on his spine, hoping he would concentrate on the sensation and calm. You hurt for him. You tried to pinpoint a time in his life when all had been open and honest. You couldn’t think of one. His father had hidden his lineage, met and fell in love with a woman who’d birthed their son into a veil of secrecy and half-truths. And then before life could truly get started, he’d been in the epicenter of a fledging revolution spurred by his father’s refusal to accept the degradation and oppression of his people. Soon his mother had died, leaving a son and a lover alone in the world. Except they really weren’t alone. His father’s true identity had been reduced to nothing more than a bedtime story and a fairytale black boys in Oakland were never to believe. Finally, there was the heartbreak of his father’s bloodied body and the disappearance of the only other person connecting him to what his life had been. You refused to think of the isolation and turmoil of his adulthood. 

N’Jadaka’s breathing slowed. He was pulling calming breaths through his nose and pushing them out through his mouth. You moved your touch to the back of his neck, kneading the muscles there until he relaxed. 

“I’m here, N’Jadaka. Let it out.” 

You weren’t sure how long you two remained there, but eventually he lifted his head from its resting place. His eyes were heavy, rimmed in red, but they were softer than you’d ever seen. The pads of your thumbs cleared away traces of moisture from the planes and angles of his face. He shifted his body to tower over you, pressed his lips tentatively against yours while searching your face. You longed to lose yourself in the taste of him, but you knew what he was doing. Running. 

“No running, love.” You’d ignore that slip. “Don’t bury what you’re feeling.” 

His sigh hummed against your lips then departed. You missed him immediately. With as much grace as you could manage, you rose from the floor and extended your hands toward him. He grasped you and pulled himself up. He was heavy, but you didn’t mind carrying him if only for a moment. 

Guiding him to the kitchen island, you seated him with a flick of your eyes. He fidgeted with the edges of a placemat. 

“I’m going to get some food into you and then we have work today.” He simply nodded before casting his eyes downward. He was embarrassed you assumed, upset with himself for letting you see him at his base level. “Hey. I’m proud of you. They would be, too.”

***  
N’Jadaka was too worried to meet Y/N’s eyes, but his heart kicked. He hoped her summation was true. “Thanks.”

The fringed edges of the linen placemat weren’t particularly interesting, but knew if he looked at her he’d know just how splayed open he’d been, still was. But she’d taken it and held him in a way he’d never experienced. The smell of her, and the steady thump of her heartbeat, had anchored him in reality. He’d been close to slipping into something that felt dark. He didn’t know what it was, but it was familiar in a way that frightened him. 

“I felt something that scared me,” he broached. If he wanted her help, wanted to be better, he needed to be honest. “It scared me, but it felt normal.” 

She paused at the open door of the refrigerator, her hand grasped around a carton of eggs. “Tell me what it was.” 

N’Jadaka sighed. “It was like a door opened. Like I’d been trying to escape from something and that door appeared.” He ran a hand over his face. “Felt like a trap, but I was drawn to it. That make sense?”

Y/N placed the eggs on the island between them along with a bowl and whisk. “It does. Perhaps that door was your old coping mechanisms. I’m sure you read that you had very few connections to other people. Maybe that trap was your way of separating who you were from what you were doing. Stopping you from feeling anything or depending on anyone.” 

He watched her slender fingers cracking eggs into the bowl. “How do I avoid it?”

The whisk clinked against the china. Her eyes were focused on the yellow liquid. “You stop and take stock of every decision. Weigh the pros and cons of what you are doing or what you plan on doing. Recognize that everything has consequences.” She shook measures of salt and pepper into the mixture. 

He grunted and returned his eyes to the placemat. “You think I can be fixed?”

The music of the whisk against the bowl stopped. Y/N reached across the island and lifted his chin. 

“You don’t need to be fixed, N’Jadaka. You simply need to learn who you were meant to be. Everything else will fall into place.” She smiled at him in a way that made his stomach clench. It felt foreign, but warmed him nonetheless. He wanted it again. 

“Tell me what I need to do.” That smile again.

“Let me feed you first, okay? I’m really proud of you. Really.” There was a hint of sadness in the statement he couldn’t place his finger on. It worried him and he wanted to fix whatever it was that was weighing heavy on her mind. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He moved from his stool and rounded the island. She mimicked his actions and refused to meet him stare. “Y/N?”

N’Jadaka swept the breakfast items to the other side of the island before propping her atop it. His body scooted between the V of her legs. His fingers gripped her chin until her eyes met his. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing. Just a bit tired.”

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” His hands splayed across the small of her back, held her fast. 

“…it’s not important for now. Soon, okay?”

So, she was back to her cryptic answers? He bristled. She must have felt the shift in his energy. 

“It has nothing to do with you, N’Jakdaka. I promise. Remember I have a life outside of this.” 

He disliked both her worry and the idea of portion of her life being off limits to him. 

“You going through your own door, baby girl? Maybe you need to practice what you preach.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her lip. “You and me against the world, okay?”


	9. Chapter 9

Recommended Listening: Electric Feel by Frank Ocean, We All Try by Frank Ocean and Flower of the Universe by Sade

I don’t believe my hands are cleanly. Can’t believe you that you would let me touch your heart-We All Try by Frank Ocean

“I’d expected timely reports from you, Y/N.” 

The edge in the king’s statement was unmistakable. You were well aware you’d been lax in your duties. The bubble of the world you’d built with N’Jadaka behind the closed doors of your home had started to seep out into reality. 

“I apologize, your highness. It’s just that we’ve made such progress that I didn’t want to lose momentum. I think you’d be surprised at just how far he’s come.” You were trying to cover your own ass, but the core of your report had been true. N’Jadaka had a better handle on his anger. He was working through the grief of remembering the deaths of his parents and coming to terms with the bodies that had fallen by his hand. “I think this will work. N’Jakada is very receptive to the path he’s on.”

T’Challa’s eyebrow rose. “N’Jadaka? That’s a bit familiar isn’t it, Ms. L/N?”

Using his birth name had been an accident, but you were quick on your feet. “It is, sir, but I think it’s indicative of the progress that’s been made. He’s shifted from Killmonger to Erik and now to his rightful Wakandan name. Wouldn’t you agree that’s a vast improvement?” 

You held the king’s gaze and tried to steady your heartbeat. When he curled his lips into a smile and gave an approving point in your direction, your muscles uncoiled. Not too long afterwards, you were taking brisk strides down the corridors of the inner sanctum and back towards your lab. N’Jadaka was there waiting. 

When you entered he was stretched out in your office chair, his feet propped on the desk. A book lay splayed open on his chest. His full lips were slightly parted. He looked peaceful in a way you imagined had been hard to come by in his lifetime. The fact you had even a small hand in that was a bit overwhelming. It was the first time since you’d taken this job you felt a positive result was actually just that. There was no pretense or political gain or punishment meted out. It was simply a man sleeping without the need to be hyperaware of his surroundings or fearful when he awoke yet another piece of him would be gone. 

As quietly as you could approach, you made your way over to him and gifted N’Jadaka with a kiss on his forehead. He stirred slightly before his eyes slid open slowly. A touch of a smile appeared when he saw you looming overhead.

“Hey.” You couldn’t keep the smile out of your voice. 

“Hey.” Neither could he. 

He rose slightly and pulled you down into his lap where you promptly buried your head on his shoulder and inhaled. He smelled like linen and sandalwood and comfort. 

“What did my cousin say?” His words hitched a bit. He was still coming to terms with the fact he had family, albeit a family whose prior generation had left him to fend for himself. And he was still wrestling with the facts of his coup both succeeding and failing. There had been flares of anger that crept into their conversations that took hours to calm. Most of all, N’Jadaka was struggling with the fog that still crowded his head no matter how many of his memories had been replaced. It would take time, but you knew the greatness that was horizon for him.

“He’s pleased with your progress so we’ll continue as is.” 

“He ain’t pissed off I’m dicking down my builder?” He winked at you and ran a hand down your spine. 

“Like I’d tell him that. “

“Well you’re gonna have to at some point.” 

“And why is that?” You shifted back to look into his face. 

“Because soon enough the world will know you belong to me.” It was matter of fact, solid in a way that pleased and frightened you. 

You opened your mouth to protest. “Nah. You don’t get to tell me how I feel, baby girl. I’m not sure about too much right now, but you are something that makes sense.”

“But this can all be attributed to my role in your memory restoration. I don’t want you to discredit that possibility.” You left out your fear that you’d still be neck deep in your feelings and he’d come to realize it was some sort of warped Stockholm Syndrome that made him cling to you. 

“What’s all that shit you’ve been telling me about agency? Well, I’m taking it. If I like you, hell if I love you, that’s not something you can take from me, aight?”   
You nodded, tried to hide your smile. 

“Cool. Now let me get your sexy ass home so I can show you a thing or two.”  
***

“Yo! Where’s the remote? I can’t believe you’ve never seen Do the Right Thing! It’s a black classic! Y’all really been out the loop over here.”

“It’s in the drawer.” It had a been a lazy evening culled together in your bed, flipping channels and gorging on snacks. Small acts, really, but it was a comforting sense of normalcy you knew N’Jadaka had been lacking. 

Your laughter died as N’Jadaka reached into the bedside drawer before you could react. When you felt the stiffening of his body, you knew he’d found exactly what you’d hoped he wouldn’t. The final journal, the one you’d hoped he’d never read. The best laid plans, you chastised yourself internally.

You shifted closer to the wall, hoping to slip off the edge of the bed. You wanted as much space as possible between the two of you when his questions began. The weight of his hand on your thigh stopped you cold.

“Stop. Now, Y/N.” His words were icy and you were unsure if your shiver was internal or if he’d actually felt it. When you were brave enough to pull your eyes towards him, he was palming the small book as if it had the weight of the world behind it. His eyes closed briefly before they locked onto yours. They were dark, full of anger and confusion.

“You said there were no more.” His hand moved from your thigh before it swept across his face. The tremble in his body matched the tremor in yours.

“I know. This one isn’t important. It’s just my notes.” Your lie was far from convincing.

N’Jadaka rose and paced towards the desk. He propped himself on the edge, elbows on his knees. His errant locs fell forward and partially obscured his face.

“You’re lying to me again. From the moment I woke up you’ve been lying.” His words had risen from a strained growl to a shout that made you flinch. “Every single opportunity you’ve had to be honest with me you lied.”

You rose then and approached him with both palms braced before you. “I did, but you have to believe me that it was only for your benefit. What’s in there isn’t important, N’Jakdaka. You’ve come far. Please don’t this derail you.” 

For the briefest of moments, he lifted his head to study you and then he launched from the desk, his hands encircling your biceps. His grip was bruising. There was no doubt you were now face to face with someone other than the man you’d fallen in love with. A snarl twisted his face into some frightening. It was impossible for you tear yourself away from the furious gaze of the man in front of you. You felt as if you’d destroyed his trust yet again, become just another person in his life who took away his agency. 

The beginnings of tears began to shine in your eyes. Then just as quickly as he’d curled his fingers around your arms, he let go. N’Jadaka stood eerily still. You planted your gaze at his chest. It was rising and falling deeply at the same pace of his hands flexing and relaxing. He was trying to calm himself. When he opened his eyes, he refused to look at you. Gathering the journal and a shirt in his hands, he made slow strides towards the bedroom door. You went to follow him. 

“I’d stay where you are, Y/N. I’m trying to be better. I really am, but don’t push me.” 

You stayed rooted in place until you heard the apartment door close.


	10. Chapter 10

Recommended Listening: Dust by Frank Ocean and Sailing Soul(s) by Jhene Aiko (entire album except Mr. Popular and Hoe)

N’Jadaka wasn’t sure where he was headed. He just knew he need to put as much distance between himself and Y/N as possible. He was blinded by anger and struck silent by disappointment. Agency his ass. She’d spouted that bullshit for weeks now, feeding him bits and pieces of himself as she saw fit. He was done with it. She’d said on multiple occasions that there were other builders and he intended to find one. If that meant asking the cousin he was still wary of, so be it. 

The supple leather of the journal clasped in his hand seemed to burn his skin. He was anxious to know what Y/N was keeping from him, but his mind wasn’t clear enough to deal with that at the moment. His aimless wandering had lead him to a small outcropping overlooking the sweep of a valley. The sun was starting to break golden over the horizon and something in him stirred. It felt familiar. An ache hummed to life in his torso. He winced and pressed his fingers to the spot. The sensation was fleeting, dissipating quickly. 

“I imagine instinct drew you here.” 

N’Jadaka threw glance over his shoulder. T’Challa was approaching slowly, hands clasped behind his back. He looked calm and collected. It was the exact opposite of what N’Jadaka was feeling. He dusted off his hands as he rose, taking the same measured steps towards the man he’d learned he tried to kill. 

“Something like that, I guess. You?”

T’Challa studied the sun’s dip before responding. “It’s a great place to view a sunset. Those here in Wakanda are beautiful.” 

The stirring in N’Jadaka’s chest started again. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to quiet it. It didn’t work. His fingers pressed against the sharpness in his side, his free hand braced against his thigh. 

“Y/N, told me this was a possible side effect of our wipe.” The statement was a mixture of curiosity and concern. “I know it feels real, but it’s not. It’s just memories reconnecting.” 

N’Jadaka shifted his focus from the hum in his ribs. “What’s that mean?”

“This is where you asked me to let you die.” 

N’Jadaka’s vision fuzzed then sharpened. “Tell me how you remember it.”

T’Challa’s recounting of the events dizzied him. Of course, he’d read Y/N’s account from the notes she’d taken during the wipe, but this was his actions in all their vividness. 

“I don’t know how to get this shit straight. I don’t feel like that person. But I am that person.” N’Jadaka palmed his face with both hands. “I am that person.”

“Were. Forget the wipe. Who do you think you are in this very moment?” 

“I don’t know. Not that. Some of it maybe.” His frustration was evident above all else. “I know I’m better.”

“How are you better?” 

N’Jadaka noted he and T’Challa stood shoulder to shoulder looking out over the valley. 

“Because I know that anger and where it comes from. But I’m trying to rein it in.”

“Why?” 

“I don’t know.”

T’Challa grunted. “Fair enough, but you are on the right track. Y/N is one of the best. She’ll help you sort it all out.” 

N’Jadaka bristled, tried to keep the grimace off of his face. “Nah. I want someone else.”

The slow turn of T’Challa’s head was not lost on him even if he refused to meet the stare.

“Any particular reason why? She’s given you glowing reports. Has there been another incident?” Roughness shrouded the end of his questioning. 

“Just think someone else would be more suited to help me. That doable?” This time N’Jadaka turned to meet his cousin’s curious gaze. He didn’t look away. 

“It can be arranged. Are you sure?” 

“Yea. Y’all got a way to immerse me in my memories? Like VR or something?”

“We do, but we don’t’ recommend it. The results can be unpredictable.”

“I want to do it. Can’t be worse than all these gaps in my head.” He shrugged his shoulders at yet another stare.

“As you wish.”

N’Jadaka rubbed a fresh rising of pain. First the first time in his new memories, he felt in control of himself and he had no intention of letting that go. 

****  
It had been three days since N’Jadaka’s gritty command for you to stay. And stay you had. You hadn’t left the apartment. You’d been fearful he’d appear while you were out and you’d miss your opportunity to get him to listen to you. So, you sulked and shuffled about the quiet rooms, one of his discarded shirts covering your skin. You were convinced you’d smelled the pillowcases so much that you’d inhaled every scent he’d left behind. It was pitiful, but you missed him. 

The two of you had settled into a routine. The last weeks you’d waken up in his arms each morning and been banded to his body each night. You co-existed quietly some days, him engrossed in the journals and you in your books. Breakfast at the island, some mornings, ended up with dishes scattered and your body splayed open for him on the cool marble. He’d learned you in ways you hadn’t thought possible, brought you pleasure beyond any you’d ever experienced. You loved him. As irrational as it may be, it was true. You craved him. His body. His mind. His determination. His ambition. His ideologies. His intelligence. Him in all his forms. And you’d fucked it up. 

You could only imagine that he’d been locked back into his glass cage, but you’d been too afraid to inquire for obvious reasons. Outside of missing N’Jadaka with everything in you, you’d also been waiting with bated breath for the Dora to come and haul you to a glass cage of your own. You deserved it. You’d betrayed him and your nation. But he was a part of the royal family, he’d eventually be freed. You were no one. 

You’d just curled into a ball on the sofa when you heard the door open. Faster than you knew you could move, you leapt from the cushions and wrapped your body around him. He didn’t move, made no effort to embrace you. His hands remained at his sides, his eyes staring beyond you. The sting of his rejection unlocked your arms from around his neck and your legs from his waist. When your feet hit the ground, you placed a hand to his chest. His heartbeat was erratic.

“N’Jadaka, I missed you.” It was barely a whisper. 

Each of his thick fingers curled around your wrist as he moved your hand from his body. Your heart broke. 

“Please. Please listen to me.”

He flicked the briefest of glances at you before his body began to move towards the bedroom. You were on his heels, tears welling up rapidly. You watched from the doorway as he gathered the journals, clothes, and personal effects and stuffed them into a bag you hadn’t noticed when he entered. He surveyed the room. Seemingly satisfied, he zipped the duffel and started past you. Anger rose in you then. 

Grabbing the strap of the bag, you pulled it from his shoulder. “No! This is not how this works. You don’t get to do this to me!” 

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. His hard stare locked onto you. It was intimidating. Even more so when his stance widened and his arms locked behind his back. He loosened his neck and rolled his shoulders. 

“You can’t just ignore me! You owe me better than that.” 

The guttural laugh that exploded from his mouth quieted you. His words were low, deadly.

“I owe you, sweetheart? I don’t get to do this to you? Let me make this pretty fucking simple for you. You’re a lying ass bitch. You get off on controlling people’s minds because you’re too much of a coward to actually live a life. You live a bullshit existence all alone because you aren’t interesting enough to get anyone to notice you.”

The earlier welled tears spilled over. You could taste the salt on your lips, but you couldn’t move to wipe them from your face. N’Jadaka took a step forward, you took one back. He pressed forward again. You moved again until your knees hit the edge of the bed and you stumbled back onto it. 

“You think I wanted you? I was pity fucking you, baby girl. You get dick, I get my memories. You think this would ever work? I’m royalty remember? Who are you?” 

You couldn’t breathe, could do nothing other than watch him rise to his full height and sling the bag onto his shoulder. 

“When I’m done with them, I’ll send over the journals. Keep ‘em. It’ll give you something to remember me by.”


	11. Chapter 11

Recommend Listening: Never Is A Promise by Fiona Apple, Sullen Girl by Fiona Apple, Slow Like Honey by Fiona Apple, and The First Taste by Fiona Apple

_You'll never touch these things that I hold/The skin of my emotions lies beneath my own/You'll never feel the heat of this soul/My fever burns me deeper than I've ever shown to you/ You'll say "Don't fear your dreams, it's easier than it seems”/You'll say you'd never let me fall from hopes so high/But "never" is a promise and you can't afford to lie/ You'll never live this life that I live/I'll never live the life that wakes me in the night/You'll never hear the message I give/You'll say it looks as though I might give up this fight. –Never Is --A Promise by Fiona Apple_

 

N’Jadaka was shaking. Once out into the open air, he dropped the bag next to his feet. It landed with a solid thud. He needed a moment to collect himself, a moment to get Y/N’s stifled whimpers out of his ears. He tried breathing deeply and flexing his hands to release tension. He tried to center himself. Then tried to compartmentalize. Nothing worked. He could still see the stark pain in her eyes, the breaking of her spirit. He was ashamed. Ashamed, but not more so than angry. He may not have meant to spew such hateful things at her, but in the moment he wanted her to feel a measure of what was boiling within him. 

He’d been enraged the first day he’d left her in tears. He’d moved to disbelief on the second day. The third morning was resignation. All he’d wanted to do was slip into the apartment and gather his things. He’d hoped she’d be back at her lab so he wouldn’t have to see her. When she clung to his body, he’d fought to resist the warmth and the urge to squeeze her to him. She’d looked exhausted, her voice raspy, eyes darkly rimmed. It was obvious she’d been waiting for him, probably barely sleeping or eating. Something in him wanted to care for her, to feed her and tuck her in to sleep. He overpowered that. No matter what was in the final journal, it wasn’t important. She’d lied, repeatedly. His entire life had a been a series of half truths and omissions. This was the first time he had the opportunity to know everything, every decision, action, and event that led him to that very moment.

Knowing he would be unable to quiet himself while in such close proximity to Y/N, N’Jadaka returned the bag to his shoulder and headed out into the busting street ahead of him. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to people’s stares. Some briefly bowed as a nod to his royal blood. Others averted their eyes, their loyalty to T’Challa making it impossible for them to acknowledge him. Still others stared at him with open contempt or awe. N’Jadaka knew the ripple effects of his actions were far reaching. Families and friends had turned on each other, choosing sides between tradition and progression. He may have been on the road to rebuilding his life, but he’d opened fractures in Wakanda he feared would take generations to heal. 

It took only a few moments to situate his belongings into his new space. He was now fully entrenched in the family he never knew he had. His quarters were located in the same wing as T’Challa, his mother, and sister. It still felt foreign to him. He’d fended for himself for so long that the idea of having people to depend on was disquieting. He wouldn’t allow himself to get complacent. He’d done that with Y/N and look where it got him. 

N’Jadaka was taking in the view from the balcony when a knock sounded against the heavy wooden door. Beyond it was a page holding a sealed box. He took it with thanks and settled it onto the empty expanse of his desk. Inside were some of the contents from his last apartment in Oakland. He knew immediately the worn leather book was his father’s journal. He grasped it and tapped it against his thigh trying to regain composure. Even in the easing fog of his mind, he knew his father’s notes had led him to that moment. He’d laid out a map, a written history, and a plan for the future within the confines of its pages. Nestled in the bottom of the box was a ring on a thickly linked chain. His memory sparked again as he slipped it onto his neck. It felt familiar, right. He recognized its similarity to the one T’Challa wore proudly. 

Two sons wearing the adornments of their dead fathers.

He was restless now. N’Jadaka found himself paused before the door of his cousin’s office. He could hear voices on the other side as he knocked. When it opened, the guard he now knew was named Okoye eyed him. She still didn’t trust him. He was well aware of why and didn’t fault her for it. She moved slightly with a curt nod to allow him to enter. She may not care for him, but she was loyal to the throne and by extension he was a part of it. He gave her quiet thanks and took a seat across the desk from T’Challa. 

“Okoye, we’re fine. Just give us a bit of time.” 

After the click of the door closing stopped echoing, N’Jadaka settled into his seat. “Thanks for my stuff. I wasn’t expecting that. I couldn’t even tell you the address of that place.” He tapped his temple as an indication of what they both knew. 

“A king has his ways.” A laugh passed between the two of them. N’Jadaka felt a bit of ease. “How can I help you?” 

N’Jadaka wiped a hand across his face. “Let me be real with you. Y/N and I crossed the line. We were feeling each other and I got way too comfortable with her.”

T’Challa’s eyes widened a bit, but the explosion of anger N’Jadaka expected didn’t erupt. He motioned for N’Jadaka to continue.

“She lied to me. There was another set of notes she hid. Those are my memories. Even though it was fucked up of her, I said some things that I shouldn’t have. I don’t want her to get in trouble for this, though.” 

He was truly concerned. She’d spent years of her life building a career and being successful enough at it to be handpicked by the king himself. Whatever the fallout from their involvement, he didn’t want to take away her livelihood. He already had taken the light from her eyes. The extinguishing of that was something he’d have to live with for a very long time. 

“I won’t say I’m not disappointed in her. Had I known she had such little self-control and integrity, I would have never assigned her to you. She won’t be dismissed. Reassigned, yes. Something administrative would be best.”

“Nah. Don’t do that to her. Please. She wasn’t alone in this.” 

“I’ll consider it. I have very little tolerance for being disobeyed. Now, I’ve arranged for a new builder to begin with you in the morning.”

“We can chill with that for a minute. I want to get to the VR program ASAP. You can do that?” He knew he sounded close to begging. 

“I can. Shuri has already been briefed. Would you like to go now?” 

N’Jadaka fiddled with the ring on the chain. “Yea. No time like the present.”

 

_You moved like honey in my dream last night/Yeah, some old fires were burning/You came near to me and you endeared to me/But you couldn't quite discern me/Does that scare you? I'll let you run away/But your heart will not oblige you/You'll remember me like a melody/Yeah, I'll haunt the world inside you -Slow Like Honey by Fiona Apple_

_When N’Jadaka awoke he was sprawled on his stomach. His hands roamed the sheets hoping to connect with the warm skin of Y/N. He found nothing but empty space and the bright light of day when he fully opened his eyes. He stretched, pulled a pair of sweats low on his hips, and went to search for her. She was at the kitchen island, whisking a bowl of eggs while humming. He propped his body against the frame of the bedroom door to study her. It was an amazing way to start the day._

_“At what point are you going to come over here and stop staring at me.”_

_He chuckled at the amusement in her voice, crossed the room in a few long strides. This time he leaned his body against the marble countertop. He beckoned to her to come closer. She obliged and slotted her thighs between his legs, pressed her chest to his. With one thick finger, he lifted her chin before bringing his lips onto hers. First softly. Then needier. Then passionate. He dipped into the sweetness within. He felt her soft moan pass from her body to his._

_N’Jadaka reversed their positions without breaking the kiss. He deepened it, palmed her ass in his hands and squeezed. She giggled against his lips and his smile followed suit. He loved this woman. In all of her silliness and intelligence and warmth. With her was the first real sense of peace he’d felt. She’d helped him regain his sense of self and then given him her heart._

_N’Jadaka hoisted her around him and made his way to the sectional sofa. He brought their bodies down together. Hooking one of her legs around his waist, he used his other hand to tug down his sweats. Now free of his constrictions, he helped her pull off the fitted sleep shirt she worse. His hands swept over the smooth expanses of skin beneath him. She was breathtaking._

_He pecked her lips. “I love you, Y/N.”_

_“Say it again!”_

_“I love you.”_

_She palmed his face in both of her hands and brought him to eye level. Her eyes went serious. “I love you, N’Jadaka. I’m proud of you. Proud you’re mine.”_

_He merged their bodies then, steadied her leg around him and moved slowly. It was quiet, the only sounds their lips occasionally meeting or gasps or moans or flesh against flesh. He felt himself peaking, tried to hold back. The blissful face of the woman he loved was making it difficult._

_“Y/N, open your eyes.”_

N’Jadaka sprang forward, his heart racing against his chest. His breath came in shudders, his brow was damp. There was no way that was real. Maybe he was seeing what he wanted to happen. She would have told him had they been in love. He shook his head trying to clear the images from his mind. That life didn’t exist. Couldn’t have existed., 

“What was that? You were supposed to be showing me shit I couldn’t remember!” N’Jadaka leapt from the table and paced the room. He was shaking. 

Shuri stepped forward, her brother at her side. “I did. That memory was yours. It’s a part of your story. It’s part of the life you had here the first time.”

~~~

_Days like this, I don't know what to do with myself/All day and all night/I wander the halls along the walls  
And under my breath I say to myself/"I need fuel to take flight"- Sullen Girl by Fiona Apple_

The buzzer of the dryer pulled you from your thoughts. The warm sheets, towels, and pillowcases were the last of it. Every surface had been scrubbed, polished, and swept. So, what next? You could return to work, but you were almost certain that was probably not an option. N’Jadaka had a direct line to T’Challa. Once he informed him of what you’d done there was no doubt you’d be back on the job market. If you could get one at all. People rarely went from a royal position to civilian work. It was a clear indication the person had disgraced the throne in some way. 

Night had turned over to day twice before you found the strength the pull yourself together enough to function. Now, you were scrubbing down your apartment with all the energy you had. You wanted every trace of him gone. Every scent. Every hair. Every fiber. Every single thing. When you were done, you wanted there to be no memory he’d ever set foot into your space. 

You may have been able to make him nonexistent in the apartment, but there was no possible way you’d manage the same thing in your heart or your body. There were still the flowering bruises on your neck and shoulders. You couldn’t shake the clench of your entire being when you remembered being tangled in his arms. Nor could you forget the easy comfort of simply existing with him. It would be a long time before you could even begin to forget him.

Settling onto the sofa, you opened the leather-bound book. As promised, N’Jadaka’s package of journals had arrived shortly after his departure. He’d been right. It was something to remember him by, something you could cling to now that he was out of reach.

_These months with him have been eye-opening. N’Jadaka is every bit of who I thought he was. Wickedly smart, confident, loyal, dedicated. All these years the world has missed out on something great. I’m not a firm believer that love fixes all, but it’s a start. I can only wonder how his life would have been further enhanced had he a tribe, a family, beyond his parents. My heart still aches for him. There is still sadness behind his smile. I see it when he watches T’Challa and Shuri with their mother. I know he longs for lasting connections. I hope I am helping build them._

You flipped a few pages until the final entry.

_We have to wipe him again. We’d been so sure we’d been thorough. We weren’t. He’s been reckless this week, talking of his birthright and his rightful place in the kingdom. It has taken heavy lobbying for this. It’s unprecedented. I know the council values him and that is the basis for this decision. It is best I am nothing to him. Until we can be sure he is fully rehabilitated, any portion of our life together would be a distraction. This breaks my heart. What if he never remembers me? What if this love was our only chance? Can I live knowing we will never be again?_

Epilogue  
Recommended Listening: Dreaming With A Broken Heart by John Mayer 

_The florescent bulbs were quieter when N’Jadaka entered the building that housed Y/N’s lab. This time he wasn’t strapped to a bed with a head full of nothing. Now, he knew everything. He was grounded in who he was and where he was headed. He knew of his family’s pride and shame and he knew that he now had a place to be loved and develop his ideas for the world. What he didn’t have was her._

_The last few days he’d purposely stayed away from her. Part of it was residual shame from his cruelty, part of it was fear that she’d refuse to even look at him. The idea what he’d built with her was now in shambles around his feet wasn’t something he was willing to accept. He’d fix it. He’d figure out a way to reignite the light behind her eyes and a way to piece together her spirit._

_N’Jadaka spied her among the crowded hallway. She moved quickly, dodging and sidestepping those who moved too slowly. He reached out and skimmed her shoulder with his fingers. Y/N slowed, then turned to him. He smiled, not realizing until that very moment just how much he’d missed her face. He wanted to kiss her but thought better of it. He was certain she remained furious and hurt. Still, before him she looked as she had the first day he’d awakened. Beautiful, composed, and out of reach._

_“Hey.”_

_She eyed him curiously. “Hey.”_

_“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now. All that shit I said? I didn’t mean it. I was just upset about the journal.”_

_She clasped the collection of documents in her hands to her chest. “What journal?”_

_“Come on. For real. I fucked up okay? I read it. This thing between us ain’t new. Why wouldn’t you just tell me what you meant to me from the jump?”_

_Y/N arched an eyebrow at him, took a step closer._

_“I think you’ve gotten me confused with someone else.”_

_“Baby girl, please. You wrote about us. How we loved each other, started to build a life until I went off track again and they had to wipe me a second time. Why would you hide that?” He was pleading. He didn’t care._

_N’Jadaka hadn’t been able to understand why she hadn’t told him. She wrote of him in such loving terms. It was the first time he’d been able to see himself from the outside that wasn’t a clinical retelling of his crimes, accomplishments, and tragedies. She’d loved him, thought the world of him. N’Jadaka ached to think how she must have crumbled when all traces of her had been erased from his mind. How she felt when he crushed her wrist. How she felt when he’d thrown all his anger and fear atop her shoulders. She been reliving her love for him those weeks he’d existed in her space, holding on to wisps of their history._

_“I really think you have me confused with someone. I’m sure she’ll accept your apology. It seems really sincere.”_

_“Y/N? Please…” It dawned on him when a flicker of something lit in her eyes. “…don’t tell me you let them...”_

_“How do you know my name?” She took a step back clutching the papers tighter against her._

_N’Jadaka was speechless. She hadn’t. She couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have. She had. He was gone, wiped away at her request. Something inside his chest broke. He’d hurt people before, but he’d never imagined someone wishing away his very existence. He searched her face, trying to memorize every bit of her._

_“Good luck finding who you’re looking for.” She smiled at him and disappeared into the crowd._


	12. Chapter 12

Recommended Listening: Be Real Black For Me by Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway and Warm Winds by SZA feat. Isaiah Rashad

In my head I'm only half together  
If I lose you, I'll be ruined forever  
Darling, take my hand and hold me  
Hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me  
You know how much I need you  
To have you, really feel you  
You don't have to change a thing  
No one knows the love you bring  
\--Be Real Black For Me

When I call your phone on a late night  
I recall your soul had a taste like  
Gardens, flowers, Warm Winds  
The clouds below your feet  
Quit clipping on your wings  
Sometimes we hate to leave somebody  
Whats happening to we?  
Warm Winds on a space ride  
Sometimes, I call your name out loud  
Just to make sure it's you

\--Warm Winds

 

One Month Prior

When the final bit of Y/N’s white lab coat melded into the crowd around her, N’Jadaka had stayed rooted in place for what seemed like an eternity. He’d refused to believe that she was now just as much of a ghost as he’d been to her. He was afraid that once he left the building that his erasure would be real. As long as he remained in that moment, there was a possibility she would turn around smiling and end his punishment. It didn’t happen.

He’d finally willed his legs to move and before he came back into his mind he was again at the outcropping overlooking the valley. This time, he wasn’t feeling a phantom pain radiating from his ribs. This time, the pain was very much real and it was anchored in the center of his chest. It was hard to breathe and he kept pulling in deep drags of air as a way to calm his nerves. He wanted to cry, something that felt foreign, but disbelief had taken precedence. She’d erased him. His words had driven her to turn her own skill on herself. 

That day in her bedroom, the urge to assert his dominance over her had been too strong to ignore. He’d wanted to make her suffer in the same ways he had and the only control he had over the situation had been to make her feel as badly as he did. He’d succeeded. Too well.

N’Jadaka toyed with the kimoyo beads around his wrist, enthralled by the technology that was so readily accessible in his new home. There was so much that could be done. Wounds could be healed in a matter of minutes, hours, or days. Clean energy was not a political fight but rather a way of life. People were healthy and well-educated. Every conceivable advantage was afforded to the citizens of his father’s nation. And in all it’s glory, he was struggling to find a way to use it to bring Y/N back into his life. He wasn’t a builder, had none of the skills she did. Y/N was calm and nurturing and had finesse. He was blunt and at times cold and turbulent. What good were those skills when he wanted to ease himself back into her memories and her heart? But he loved her so he wanted to try.

Giving one of the beads a light squeeze, it came to life and within a few moments, Shuri materialized before him. 

“Yes, cousin?” 

“You available to meet me? I need some advice. Maybe a favor.” He knew his voice had broken. He could see the concern on her face.

“Of course. Come to my lab.” 

N’Jadaka ended the call and returned his gaze back towards the view before him. It was beautiful, but in the moment it was dulled. Everything had dulled and it had been only hours. What would the rest of his life look like through this lens? He had no intention on finding out. 

***

Her fingers coursed over his skin like she was reading braille. Not the meticulously carved scarification, but instead the planes and angles of his face. N’Jadaka closed his eyes, tried to concentrate on the feel of her warm fingertips. He wanted to sink into her, melt away and reawaken in those weeks they’d been cloistered away. He was glad for the nearness of her. It afforded him the chance to inhale her scent and feel the pull of her energy. She calmed him even if she was still trying to remember exactly who he was to her. He wanted to reach out and explore her face as she was doing his, but this was her moment. He’d sit there forever if that was what it took for her to come back to him. 

“And you loved me?” Her voice was soft, full of awe. Her fingers never stopped their feathering. Now they rested lightly on the side of his neck.

“We loved each other.” 

“Then why don’t I remember you?” 

Her hand was now pressed against his heart. The dam inside him broke and he circled her wrist in his fingers, brought it to his mouth to press his lips against her pulse. Y/N jolted and when N’Jadaka caught her eyes, he saw a glimmer of recognition. It made him hopeful and ashamed at the same time. He couldn’t be sure if she was remembering how he’d hurt that very wrist or how he’d pressed his lips to it before. He’d take either so he kept his lips flush with her skin until he felt her tremble. 

“I hurt you.” He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Badly enough that you wanted to forget me.” 

She looked confused before tears started to well. “Why?”

N’Jadaka let out a long sigh. He didn’t want to tell her everything, but she needed to know. If this was his chance to really build a life in Wakanda, he wanted her by his side. She’d lied. He’d lied. Generations had lied. Now was the time for light. So, he launched into the story from the beginning, at the end offering her the opportunity to read his journals, to read her own. 

“I want you to know who I am down to my very core so your choice is exactly what you want.” 

She nodded while swiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what, sweetheart.”

“For giving me a choice. My mind…” She struggled to find the words.

“I know. Believe me, I do. It will get better. I promise.”

N’Jadaka’s meeting with Shuri had revealed more than he’d expected. He’d been pleasantly surprised when she’d locked the door to the lab and shuttled him over to a small stack of papers. Y/N’s memories. One neatly bound set of notes was her remembrances of him during the first and second times she’d loved him. The second Shuri held as secret until he was ready to depart. Those notes were of Y/N’s years as a builder. T’Challa had her stripped of them without her knowledge or permission. He’d punished her for her indiscretions, reduced her to an administrative role as he’d planned. N’Jadaka was furious. She’d spent years perfecting her craft while still having a heart for those she worked with. Now, she was without him and the career that existed before he ever set foot into the country. He felt like he’d stolen her life.

He’d deal with T’Challa later, but in the moment he wanted to give Y/N whatever she needed to fill in the gaps of her mind. Her hands were back on him, a slender finger tracing the lines in his palm. She looked lost in thought. N’Jadaka let her be. When her eyes closed and her brow furrowed, he knew what she was feeling all too well. She was trying to make solid out of smoke. Something in her was triggered. He ached for her to connect with the portions of her that had been swept away. He’d met her at the apartment, hoping his presence there would spark her. It had taken the last month to slowly integrate himself into her world. He’d started with meeting her in Shuri’s lab with his younger cousin acting as a buffer, introducing him as Prince N’Jadaka instead of the man who loved her. Then slowly, they’d broken to her that there was a history between the two of them. Now, there was no longer a buffer. It was them face to face, raw and open. 

Y/N’s eyes pulled open and she gazed directly at him. Their depths looked different. N’Jadaka couldn’t quite put his fingers on what it was. Before he had a chance to question what she was feeling, she’d moved into his lap and straddled him. His instinct kicked in and he wrapped his arms around her. Y/N’s head found the crux of his shoulder.

“You feel fast. Does that make sense?” Her words were slightly muffled against his skin. 

“No. Tell me, sweetheart.” He inhaled the scent of her hair, lost himself in its thickness.

“Like there’s no reason I should be in your lap right now, but it feels like where I’m supposed to be.”

He knew. He’d felt the very same thing while fighting his own fog. Erased or not, the heart remembers. For the first time since he’d come to understand what she’d done, N’Jadaka felt confident. By however slow degrees, she’d remember him. She’d love him again. He planted a kiss at the curve of her jaw.

“For however fast or slow you need to go, I’m here.” 

She hummed into his neck and he felt the whole of her body relax into his. N’Jadaka cycled one large hand up and down her spine. It was as much a comfort for her as it was for him. He synced his breathing with hers and when he opened his eyes again, the sun had set. Y/N was still culled against him. Her breath rose and fell softly in the quiet of the room. Using the power in his legs to push to standing, he secured her sleeping frame to his and made his way to the bedroom. The slight jostling of their bodies roused her. Her eyes were afire from the moment they connected with his. Neither of them spoke before their lips crashed together. 

Everything was fevered, hurried. They tore the clothes from each other, gave little care to the sounds of fabric yielding to pressure or where the articles landed once they were free of their bodies. It was if they couldn’t get close enough. N’Jadaka felt like he was on fire as he brought their bodies down to the bed, hooking one of Y/N’s legs over his forearm. He bit into her neck eliciting a gasp that spurned a growl of his own. Then their bodies were one and he moved into her faster than he wanted, but was what his body needed. As brutal as his strokes may have been, her hips arched to meet him each time. He felt the ache of her nails digging into the small of his back, the sting from the small gashes being coated in their sweat. It didn’t feel like enough. He’d missed her, craved her, for weeks. He wasn’t sure if this would be the last time he’d be buried within her. N’Jadaka couldn’t be sure if he’d ever wake up to Y/N again or watch her get lost in her books or be able to soothe her when she tossed and turned. Whatever time he had he wanted to savor. So he slowed and moved within her slowly, peppering her neck and face with kisses. He tried to memorize the taste of her, the sound of her, the feel of her. Those memories he’d buried as deeply as possible so there’d be no chance he’d ever forget. And when her body broke beneath him, he savored the clutch of her entire being around him, prayed to Bast that it was only the beginning. 

Y/N stirred slightly when N’Jadaka moved from the bed. He left her with a kiss and the stack of notes next to the pillow.

_These memories belong to you. I’m sorry I helped push them from your head. Do with them what you will. I’ll be waiting for you whatever you decide. -N’Jadaka_


	13. Chapter 13

Recommended Listening: Sometimes It Snows in April by Meshell Ndegeocello, Love Ridden by Fiona Apple, and Make You Feel My Love by Adele  
A/N: All italics are in Y/N’s mind

N’Jadaka was worried. It had been two days since he’d left her with the notes. He’d hung around Shuri’s lab, hoping she’d stop by. She hadn’t and it had taken everything in him not to show up on her doorstep. If Y/N needed space then he was going to give it to her. If he had his way, they had the rest of their lives, and all of those forthcoming in the ancestral plane, to be side by side. Still, his chest was tight. 

“You know, if you’re going to hang out here all day you could actually help.” 

The amusement in Shuri’s voice lifted the cloud a bit. Of his newfound cousins, she was his favorite. He and T’Challa clashed for obvious reasons, but now with his tampering with Y/N’s mind what little ground they’d made was now crumbling away. While his focus was solely on Y/N at the moment, he was more than ready to square up with T’Challa when it was all settled. 

“I know what T’Challa did was wrong. I’m not going to try to justify it.”

“Good. Then you won’t care when I beat his ass.” N’Jadaka clenched and unclenched his fists, taking note of the scars dotting his knuckles. 

“Or you can talk to him?” Her words were hopeful, her stare unflinching. 

“Why? How many years has he been authorizing this sort of shit? He gets to decide what stays or goes in someone’s mind? That’s aight?”

She started to speak, stopped, and started again. “It’s not. The idea of wiping is solid. There’s so much potential for its application. I will agree my brother has overstepped his boundaries in this case, maybe a few others.”

N’Jadaka picked up on the regret in her words. He crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. 

“It’s okay. This isn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry. I know how hard it was for you to get your bearings. And now this.”

Shuri pushed from his arms and wiped the sadness from her face. “But! She’ll be okay. I know it. She has you.” She threw a playful jab at his bicep. “Come help me calibrate these gauntlets.” 

N’Jadaka was glad for the distraction and before he realized it, he’d managed to momentarily move his mind from Y/N. 

***

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

N’Jadaka moved his hand from the curve of Y/N’s cheek; let it come to rest on her shoulder. He didn’t like the sight of her bound to the exam table. She looked caged. This evening, the usual bustle and music of Shuri’s lab was non-existent. It was the first time he had experienced it. The room was always full of heavy bass and drums or the laughter of his cousin delighted by her projects. Tonight, outside the floor to ceiling glass, the hustling movement of vibranuim transport and mining glowed a brilliant blue and hummed a low frequency he could feel vibrating through his feet. 

A week ago, Y/N had interrupted his work with Shuri and asked to be immersed. He’d tried to warn her as T’Challa had with him, but she was insistent. 

“I am. If this helps me get back to myself I have to.” Y/N attempted to reach from him, but the reality of the straps settled her movement quickly. A muscle in his jaw jumped.

He could make out the trace of hesitation she attempted to hide and furrowed his brow. “You don’t have to do this. We can keep taking it slowly. I’m going to be here. You know that right?”

She smiled weakly. “I know. I want to remember you, N’Jadaka. What I know right now isn’t enough.”

She moved her gaze to Shuri, and further in the distance, T’Challa. “I’m ready.”

With a curt nod, Shuri stepped forward and secured the tiny transmitters to Y/N’s temples. N’Jadaka knew it was painless, but he still bristled at his lack of control in the situation. The guilt he’d carried for months was squarely on his shoulders.

“Stop worrying, okay?”

He refused to acknowledge just how turbulent he was feeling. He leaned in to press his lips to her forehead. “I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Y/N smiled again as her eyes drifted closed and he lost her to the recesses of her mind.

***  
(Recommended Listening: House of Cards by The Foreign Exchange and Yesterday by Donny Hathaway)

_“N’Jadaka! Where have you been?”_

_The bedside clock glowed green. It was 2:43am. You had fallen asleep on the sofa hours ago waiting for him to return from wherever he’d been disappearing to for the last three weeks. Each time you tried to broach the subject he grew angry and found an excuse to isolate himself. Sometimes he just stared blankly at you before turning and leaving again._

_You felt him drifting and it terrified you. There was a darkness starting to creep into him. Years of wiping and rebuilding made you keenly aware of when the fragile connections were starting to unravel. Each day you felt like N’Jadaka was starting to slip back into Erik and then into Killmonger. You loved N’Jadaka, weren’t willing to let him go without a fight._

_A week ago, you’d requested a meeting with T’Challa and informed of him of your suspicions. His anger towards you had been unexpected, but you’d chalked it up to his shame and guilt about how his cousin’s life had been ruined by acts out of his control. You were a scapegoat. You tried to use that knowledge to ease the sting of the words that labeled you incompetent and lax. You’d take the brunt of the blame if it led to a solution for the man you loved. Whatever the plan, it would all be for naught if N’Jadaka wouldn’t stand still long enough to let it work._

_“Don’t start, Y/N.”_

_“Don’t start? You come home at damn near 3:00am and I’m supposed to just be quiet?”_

_His blank stare told you that was exactly what he expected you to do._

_“Bullshit, Erik!.” You knew that would get a reaction from him. It did and he stalked closer to you._

_“Come again?” The words were a growl. “What’s my name?”_

_“When you stop acting like Erik, then I’ll call you the right one.”_

_This time he really did growl, inched closer. In response, you crossed your arms beneath your breasts and refused to look away. His eyes grew darker. He didn’t care for your challenge._

_“It’s like that, baby girl? You mad? I been neglecting you?”_

_N’Jadaka reached for you, but you sidestepped the warmth of his fingers at the last moment. “No.”_

_“No? You don’t want me?” His face was a mixture of anger and lust._

_“Yep. I don’t want you. I want N’Jadaka. When you see him? Let me know!”_

_You turned then to leave him alone in the dimness of the living room. He followed closely on your heels._

_“What’s that supposed to mean? You know damn well who the fuck I am!”_

_You shook your head and turned back to him. “No, I actually don’t. What I do know is that for the last three weeks you’ve been floating around here like a ghost, barely touching me and never here. This…”_

_You gestured between the two of you. “Is falling apart and I’m not sure how it can be fixed.”_

_You didn’t want to let him know of your worries about the rebuild failing. You didn’t want him to be privy to your fears that you’d have to delve back into his mind and start over from the beginning. You especially didn’t want him to know that you’d grown nearly convinced you’d lose him forever._

_“I don’t see what the problem is. I can’t have space? Time to think?”_

_“It’s not that and we both know it. Be honest with me.”_

_He drug a large hand over his face then planted his hands on his hips. “Aight. What’s the problem then? Since you know everything.”_

_That stung._

_“You’re upset. Still thinking you should be sitting on the throne. I can see it in you.”_

_“And? That’s not true? That’s my birthright, Y/N. That shit was stolen from me and I still got it.”_

_“You did…” He cut you off._

_“Nah. That should be the end of it. Now I gotta sit back and watch this same lay low bullshit this country has been doing for generations? You and I both know that some sucka shit.”_

_You sighed. This is what you’d feared. You could only imagine where he’d been going, but now you knew what had been brewing inside him while he was away._

_“I see. Come to bed.”_

_Later, as he finally drifted to sleep and the sun was starting to rise, you let the pillow beneath you soak with tears. You’d rather wipe his mind again than see him repeat the same pattern that nearly cost him his life._

_***  
The anger on N’Jadaka’s face should have sent you back across the room. It didn’t. Instead you leaned over him and pressed your lips to his. _

_“I love you. So much, N’Jadaka. Please understand why I have to do this.”_

_“Get the fuck outta my face!” The words barely made it through his clenched teeth._

_You felt the tremble in your bottom lip, the tears teasing the space behind your eyes._

_“I love you,“ you repeated as the transmitters were secured to his temples._

_“I’ll be here,” you reminded him as the faint blue lights started to ebb._

_“You’ll remember and it will be beautiful.”_


	14. Chapter 14

Recommended Listening: Orange Moon by Erykah Badu

You could feel your heart racing, but you didn’t quite feel solid. It was like you were floating. Bits and pieces of voices filtered between the blackness and light filling the spaces behind your eyes.

_This is too much. Bring her up!_

That was N’Jadaka. He was angry. You wanted to tell him you were okay, but you had no voice. You couldn’t move. The air felt like a weighted blanket and you just wanted to sleep.

_The session is already set. It has to run its course. I’m watching her vitals. She’s okay._

Shuri. At least she was calm. She tended to have that effect on him. She would keep him under control until you woke up. 

_The next cycle is starting. Be patient, N’Jadaka._

T’Challa. He and N’Jadaka were always at odds so your love’s growl wasn’t surprising. However, the beginning strains of their argument were lost to you when the blackness finally pushed away the light. 

_“You know the world is going to know you’re mine one day, right?”_

_Your head shot up at his words. You’d been scribbling notes onto the pad balanced in your lap when he finally spoke._

_“I beg your pardon?” Closing the notebook around the pen, you gave him your full attention._

_“The. World. Is. Going. To. Know. You. Are. Mine. Clear enough?” N’Jadaka smirked at you._

_“I heard what you said. Explain why you believe that to be true. You know the consequences if that happens.”_

_You were interested in documenting how his mind came to such conclusions. N’Jadaka Udaku, even in this altered state, was still cunning in ways you’d never seen. Often, after long periods of silence, he’d make declarations about what he wanted, needed, or intended to have. You were on that list. Had he been any other man, you would have laughed off his statement and moved forward. But this was not any ordinary man. You knew he was relentless in his pursuit of goals and anything and everything that got in the way was just another obstacle to be removed or destroyed. But you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t feel some sort of odd pride. N’Jadaka was a man of the world; had seen things you could only imagine and there he was staking claim to you. However ill advised, there’d been a reaction from your very core. You couldn’t be quite sure if he’d cataloged the changes in your person. You knew your breathing had shallowed. Your pupils had dilated. Your skin had flushed. You’d stilled to avoid making any graze of your person against his._

_Before he’d spoken, the two of you were sitting in silence at the mouth of the Panther cave. You’d brought him there to work through some memories of his coup and the aftermath that brought the two of you full circle to that moment. N’Jadaka had been doing well and in the time he’d been living in your space, you’d grown to love him again. That love was new and old at the same time. You had the advantage of history and memory on your side. He was falling in love with you all over again. It made your heart sing. Because it felt real. If, after all the changes in his mind, he still found you to be the woman he wanted to be with, how was what he felt for you anything but real? He’d chosen you one more time._

_“The world will know because it’s important to me. You are important to me. That’s nothing to hide.”_

_You usually loved his blunt statements because you seemed to exist in the grey, but this was dangerous. For both of you. It wasn’t about your career. It was about whether or not you’d be forced apart for the sake of the nation. Wouldn’t you be seen as nothing more than a traitor? N’Jadaka was safe from that. He was a royal, one that the council was trying to bring back into the fold. You were just a tool to make that happen. If you were imprisoned, or harmed in any way, N’Jadaka would not have it. The fear was he’d revert to his old ways. You didn’t want to be responsible for that._

_He moved closer to you, pulled your hand into his. You melted into him with your head on his shoulder._

_“It’s nothing to hide, but it’s for the best. T’Challa…”_

_“Let me handle that. You’ll be aight. Okay?”_

_You nodded. N’Jadaka’s finger lifted your chin and he forced you to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”_

***  
N’Jadaka didn’t like how quiet Y/N was. After her session in the pod, he’d held her tightly against him until he felt the tremors in her body cease. Then he’d escorted her back to her place against the advice of his cousins. He wanted to care for her himself, but he especially wanted her away from T’Challa and his dirty hands. 

In the darkness of her bedroom, she was flush against his chest with his arms holding her steady. She’d been off-kilter for hours after being brought out of VR. When she’d awakened her eyes were wild. He knew the feeling, so he stroked her cheek and spoke quietly until she’d calmed enough to leave the lab. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

N’Jadaka felt fear spike through him. He quelled the urge to squeeze her tighter to stop her from leaving him again. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to keep trying to remember what happened in the past.”

“You’re almost there, sweetheart. Just a little bit more.”

“No. You aren’t hearing me. I don’t want to live in the past. I want to start from here and go forward. With you.”

N’Jadaka couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. 

“Why am I trying to recreate something that’s already happened. We’re both here, now and in the present. You love me, right?”

He lifted his head from the pillow and moved her face until they were eye to eye. “You never have to question that. I’ve loved you many times over now.” 

N’Jadaka felt the vibration of her laughter in his chest as they settled back into their original positions. 

“I guess we can’t forget each other so why not keeping adding to those other lives? I love you, N’Jadaka. In that memory today, you told me the world would know I was yours. It should. It’s not up to anyone else to dictate that for us.”

He understood her clearly. His entire life had been caught between half-truths and decisions out of his control. He’d let those circumstances bring him to the brink of death, the brink of losing the woman now splayed across his chest. With her was the first sense of peace he’d had. It was the first time he felt safe. N’Jadaka had always been able to protect himself, but safety wasn’t something he was familiar with. Y/N provided that. With her, he knew there was a heart waiting for him and someone in the world who wanted his happiness. He knew she would protect him and sacrifice for him. He’d seen it. And he knew she loved him deeply enough to scramble her own mind because of him. The guilt for that was a long way from leaving his shoulders. 

“So, what do we do? Hmmm? Wanna run away?” He was throwing it out there, but he already knew the answer.

“Hell no! This is just as much our home as anyone else’s. Besides they need a dose of reality. There’s some fundamentally fucked up things going on and I need answers.”

N’Jadaka loved it when she cursed. It was a rare occasion and he knew it only emerged when she was particularly passionate about a topic. 

“About what?” He moved his hands to palm her ass. 

“Hands, N’Jadaka.” 

He moved them, making mental note to put them back once she was distracted. 

“I want to know more about just how Wakanda has stayed hidden so long. I know I used to help wipe minds. Shuri let me read the notes. But can you imagine the lengths the council has gone to in order to keep such a massive sercret?”

“Lots of dirty pool, baby girl. I learned pretty quick Wakanda isn’t the fairytale everyone thinks it is.”


	15. Chapter 15

N’Jadaka left Y/N sleeping just before the sun crested over Birin Zana. In another instance, his departure would have marked his desire to upturn the life he’d created with someone who loved him. N’Jadaka had no doubt there had been women in his past who’d given their hearts freely to him, but he couldn’t say the same about himself. Except now with Y/N, he’d done so at least twice and Bast knew how many more times in memories that had been stripped from both of their minds. This morning, he’d only untangled Y/N from around his body to get some sense of understanding of how and why Wakanda had stayed hidden and what lengths they’d gone to keep it as such.

Everything in the city was silent. A few market stalls were starting to stir with the quiet tuts of produce trucks stopping to unload things that still smelled of the earth. Tipping his head slightly, he paused long enough to acknowledge the elders dousing dirt from each vegetable and fruit, shining them and making things just right. Kind of like T’Challa washing away the dirt of people’s minds in order to make Wakdana his vision of perfect. He’d used his sister’s intellectual prowess and Y/N’s keen sense of observation and patience to pick and choose what people could know, experience, or believe.

 

N’Jadaka knew before long the streets would fill, but in the moment he enjoyed his ability to stroll the center line. The air was still cool, quietly breezing between the stall flaps and kicking up small whirlwinds of red dust. The same dust was clinging to his black boots when he paused just outside of the intricately carved doors of T’Challa’s study. He entered without knocking. 

“When did you decide this was the best way to rule a nation?”

N’Jadaka took a seat as T’Challa’s head rose from the stack of papers before him. He knew his face was twisted in some mixture of disgust and curiosity. He didn’t care.

“I mean I know your daddy was old school. Wakanda forever, right? But you? You’ve seen life outside these borders in ways he didn’t. Saw how we’re treated all over the world even from your ivory tower. And yet here we are.”

It was hard for N’Jadaka to keep his words even, the darkness from the edge of his voice.

“Do you care to fill me in on what this concerns?”

N’Jadaka settled more deeply into the overstuffed leather chair and crossed one leg over the other. He never broke eye contact.

“Tell me how for so many years this place has remained hidden? How Klaue was the only attack on the borders y’all acknowledge?”

He watched T’Challa place the heavy silver pen on the desk and absently sweep the documents to the side. There was the slightest exhale before his attention swung fully back to his cousin.

“How is not important, N’Jadaka. What matters is that we’ve built a society here that prospers. One in which our people are well cared for and thriving. What matters the means?”

N’Jadaka scoffed. “Our people? I was one of those people and ya daddy left me to rot in racist ass America! Selective thriving, huh?”

“That was a mistake. He did what he thought was best for the greater good. That doesn’t make it right.”

“Huh. The greater good? Nevermind me then. Let’s talk about wiping. How you use it to make people exactly what you want.”

N’Jadaka could tell T’Challa’s patience was running thin. Again, he didn’t care. The woman he loved had been left stripped of who she was and he was still trying to piece together the gray areas of his own memories. But T’Challa, and all those who toed the line, were whole and fully aware. N’Jadaka wasn’t quite sure their version of wholeness was anything he really wanted any part of. Yes, they had their memories intact, but they also lived under the shadows of them being snatched away at any moment.

“So, let me run this theory by you, cousin. I think for generations Wakanda has used war dogs to tamp down resistance. Someone runs? Hunt ‘em down. Someone tries to speak? You shut that shit down. Right? How much blood is on your hands keeping this place a secret?”

T’Challa shot from his seat, planted his hands flat against the desk’s surface. N’Jadaka rose and mimicked his posture.

“Enough! We…I did what was necessary to ensure our future. What about the blood on your hands, cousin?”

N’Jadaka’s lips curled. “I got hella blood on my hands. I ain’t never pretend it was for honor or try to hide it. I got these scars to remind me. You got a nation of sheep and the rest of the world thinking you’re some kinda saint.”

He took a bit of pleasure at the pause in T’Challa’s response. He could tell the other man was measuring his words. “Nah. Speak up.”  
“What do you want? An apology? That I cannot provide.” 

The statement was matter of fact, left no room for compromise. It infuriated N’Jadaka.

“Fuck what you owe your own people. You owe Y/N every bit of her mind back.”

He watched T’Challa round the desk while rubbing the back of his neck. N’Jadaka removed his hands from the desk and clasped them behind his back.

“That’s also something I cannot do. Y/N defied direct orders. She had to be punished.”

N’Jadaka checked himself. Connecting his fist into his cousin’s jaw wasn’t going to get him the information he needed. “You knew we had a history before the second wipe. Why punish her this time?”

“Because she’d been warned. You think I let you rehabilitate at her home without expressly directing her not to get involved with you? How long did it take this round? It was a week the first time.” 

“That’s none of your fucking business! She’s a grown ass woman. You don’t dictate who she gives her body to!”

“That’s where you’re wrong. When it’s on my time I do.”

N’Jadaka could give a damn about consequences. In a flash, his hand was clasped tightly around T’Challa’s neck. He was seething. Each time he’d looked at the stunned man in front of him, he’d nearly gone blind with rage. This had just been the first real opportunity to act upon it. 

“I should fucking kill you! You had no right to touch those parts of her mind!” 

He squeezed to emphasize his point. “You aren’t some kind of dictator! You hear me?”

N’Jadaka flexed his fingers until he felt the very familiar pressure of a blade against his back and the metallic music of the Dora filling the room.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize that it’s been so long since I’ve updated this. I kinda lost my desire to and marked it as complete. All italics are from actual news reports.
> 
> Recommended Listening: Mixed Messages by Big K.R.I.T., Angels with Dirty Faces by Nasir Jones as Mr. Books, and Might Not Be Okay by Kenneth Whalum feat. Big K.R.I.T.

“Let me tell you how this is going to work,” N’Jadaka growled as he threw a glance over his shoulder at Okoye who was pressing the tip of her spear into his ribs. “She’s gonna back up and then I’mma let you go. Deal?”

There must have been something in his voice because with a curt nod from T’Challa Okoye withdrew. True to his word, N’Jadaka opened his hand and let his arm swing at his side. He didn’t take pleasure at the moments it took T’Challa to rise back to his full height. He was tired of hurting people. 

The cousins glared at each other for a beat before a quick finger raised sent the king’s guards back into the hall. 

“What exactly will you have us do? Let the world run rampant over our borders?” 

N’Jadaka took a moment to check his temper before he spoke. He wanted to make sure he was very clear about what he was going to say and exactly what he wanted. 

“You should know more than anyone that’s the last thing I want. This is our shit and is gonna stay that way. But don’t deny this is fucked up.” He swept his hand towards the window and the view of the city below. “Understand I got a little insurance if you think I won’t air out all of Wakanda’s secrets to the world.”

He gestured for them to return to their seats. 

“First, this wiping bullshit ends now. Shuri ain’t with it no more. It’s wrong for you to make her oversee it. Got it?”

T’Challa didn’t respond. Erik’s ire raised. 

“It’s like that? Cool. She won’t be involved. See how quickly that program breaks down without her.”

“Wiping is not off the table. It’s needed.”

N’Jadaka was glad for the small window of negotiation. “Aight. So, me and Shuri re-write the program. Every, and I mean every, case can’t move without our passwords.”

T’Challa scoffed. “It will take Shuri months to re-write the system. She has other pressing duties.”

“Like I ain’t graduate from MIT. I’m a smart mothafucka, remember?” N’Jadaka growled. 

T’Challa let out an exasperated sigh. “This is not a wise decision, cousin. We have made it our mission to ensure our safety and prosperity over those of the world. Is it perfect? Is it correct? I’ve never believed that to be true, but the citizens of our nation are my primary concern. Do you not understand that?” 

“I understand oppression, cousin. How y’all sat here and watched this continent be colonized, raped, and murdered around you and pretended not to see. That when people broke free you hunted them like dogs and silenced them. Can you imagine that fear? Seeing one of ya own coming at you with murder in their eyes. Knowing the white man gave a damn when your body was found? Nah. This ain’t about Wakanda over everything, this is about being scary ass bitches trying to keep your place in the world.”

N’Jadaka felt himself trembling with anger. His mind could not stop thinking of how many men, women, and children’s lives had been ripped apart by slavery and all its ripple effects. How even with all their riches, Wakandans were still seen as less than. How his cousin couldn’t see that would not compute.

“Then we are at an impasse. What do you want, N’Jadaka? Tell me in no uncertain terms.”

“I want control of the program. I know what it does to your mind and y’all are way too casual with it. I want this country to get off its ass and help our brothers and sisters. I want to build a home here with Y/N. Simple demands, T.” 

“Let me discuss the first two points with the council. The third is already yours. Y/N is good for you. If I do have a regret, it is keeping her from you. The meeting is in two days.” 

With a promise to be there, N’Jadaka exited the room as swiftly as he’d come into it. 

***  
Quiet N’Jadaka worried you. When you’d awakened he’d been gone, his side of the bed long since cold. Fear spiked through you. Your mind was still fuzzy and you were afraid he’d gone somewhere you didn’t know existed. You couldn’t remember his favorite foods, his preferred haunts in the city, or the small details a person tended to know about someone she loved. So, you’d curled yourself onto the sofa with a book that seemed familiar. Something about it moved you, but you couldn’t be quite sure. N’Jadaka had returned when you were halfway through the tome, sadness and anger settled heavily in his eyes.

“Hey,” you said as you pulled him down onto the sofa next to you. “Where’d you go?”

He stretched out with his head propped on one of your thighs. He looked up at you.

“To see T’Challa. I wanted to beat his ass for messing with your head.” 

Your fingers ghosted over the smooth expanse of his skin until you tickled the spot below his chin. His smile was nearly blinding. “Please tell me you didn’t.”   
“I didn’t. A certain young lady is helping me learn to use my words. I kinda love her."

“She kinda loves you, too. Tell me what happened. I can feel your tension.” 

You listened to the passion drip from his mouth. By the time he was done, you understood his anger as much as person who’d never been outside of Wakanda’s borders could. You weren’t ignorant, but you would never proclaim to be an expert on the diaspora.

“Why do you think the Jabari are still not really fucking with us? Wakanda has spent centuries looking at them as savages. And they “belong” here, right? I’m just a half blood prince,” he spat out. 

“A half blood prince who has the heart to challenge for what’s right. There is nothing half measure about you, N’Jadaka. You just have to go about it in the correct manner. Nothing you say is going to be accepted at face value. You are an outsider and committed treason by anyone’s standards here. It doesn’t matter that you exercised your rights. Use that big brain of yours to sway them.”

“I don’t know if that’s going to work. I can talk all day long and no one would care. I can see the blankness in T’s eyes. It’s like he wants to care, but this utopia is more important than anything.” 

“Why is it important for him to hear you? To understand you?” Your fingers moved from his beard and into his scalp. He purred at you like a big cat.

“Because I know what it’s like to seek peace and to see nothing but chaos around you. This shit is still unsettling to me. Black people in power, calm, quiet, love? I wanted all of it, but now that I got it? I’m scared it’s gonna be snatched away. Still I want this for all of us. A chance at it at least.”

“It won’t be taken from you, Daka. I promise.”

N’Jadaka looped an arm upwards and clasped onto the back of your neck. He brought you down into a kiss, held you there until both of you were shaky with breath coming in shuddering gasps. 

“You gonna help me?” 

“You have to ask? What do you need from me?” 

“Your Wakandan mind and eyes.”

***  
N’Jadaka squeezed Y/N’s hand tightly as they entered the council chambers. She gave his hand a pump back in response and moved to take her seat. He could still see the flush across her skin from the morning’s lovemaking. He’d awaken before the sun rose, nervous and nearly resigned at failing to get wiping under control. Y/N had pressed into him, riding him until the rays had started filtering through the blinds. He’d been grateful for the distraction of the lushness of her body, but now his nerves were back in force.

He bristled at the eyes watching him traverse the room. In another space, and time, he would he scowled at them and let loose the whip of his tongue. But this moment was too important. He wanted to get his point across and he needed their minds as open as possible. 

“Shuri, lights please?” he called to his cousin who was seated next to her brother. A quick pass of her hand over her beads dimmed the room. The murmur of voices started to gain volume.

“Good morning to the council and the public present,” N’Jadaka began. If there was one thing he knew how to do it was code switch. “I am Prince N’Jadaka son of Prince N’Jobu. I appreciate the opportunity to speak with you this morning. If you could give me your attention for just a few moments it would be appreciated.” 

He rose from his seat and faced the crowd comprised of members of every tribe including the Jabari. 

“Many of you, with perhaps good reason, see me as threat both to the throne and your nation. That is not true. My motivation is the liberation of our people across the globe. Wakanda can no longer live in a bubble. The oppression, murder, and degradation of black people across this planet is something that can longer be ignored by the richest and most advanced nation known to man. While we are not full blooded Wakandan, myself included, we are the children of this land.”

He moved closer to the center of the room.

“Allow me to show you how blackness is treated where I’m from.” With a nod to Shuri, a presentation began.

_Last Friday, a black woman was returning home from a job interview in Waller County, Texas, when she was stopped by police after failing to properly signal a lane change. Two days later, she was dead in a jail cell…_

_If you didn’t know him, or don’t know his city, or if you simply are too exhausted to sift one story from all the others, you might vaguely remember him as the kid who got killed in Cleveland during that period, from roughly the summer of 2014 through the spring of 2015, when black people getting killed by police received an unusual amount of national attention. Tamir was shot on November 22, 2014, which was after John Crawford in Dayton and Michael Brown in Ferguson but before Rumain Brisbon in Phoenix and Walter Scott in South Carolina._

_The NYPD's decision to discipline Pantaleo four years after the incident in the Staten Island borough of New York came on the heels of a letter sent to the U.S. Department of Justice by Larry Byrne, the NYPD's deputy commissioner of legal matters. In the letter, Byrne said the department had waited long enough for federal prosecutors to act in the Garner case._

_There were no witnesses to the attack. The victim had no memory of it, and DNA evidence was in its infancy and was not presented at the trial. The five youths were convicted almost exclusively on their confessions, which they testified were coerced by detectives._

_,,,sending the train ahead to its next destination after Grant was shot, and “made little effort,” according to the San Francisco Chronicle, to follow up with passengers afterward. “None of the seven officers at Fruitvale radioed that an officer-involved shooting had taken place,” the Chronicle notes. “Supervisors sent to the Fruitvale Station initially were in the dark, while officers at stations down the line did not know to expect a train full of witnesses.”_

N’Jadaka could hear the beginnings of disbelief in the room, the sniffles from those feeling an ache in the center of their chests, and the quietness of those who were unsure what to think. He let the presentation play on, covering slavery and Jim Crow and redlining and every conceivable slight and crime against his people. 

“That is only the beginning. We haven’t started to speak about the systematic issues. All I ask is that we try. Use our resources to make things right as much as we can. That we do that and stop hiding by any means necessary.”


End file.
